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THE SEARCH 


FOR 

BASIL LYNDHURST 


BY 

KOSA NOUCHETTE CAREY, 

f\ ’ 

AUTHOR OP 

'I'TELLIE’S MEMORIES,” “QUEENIE’S WHIM,” “NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS,** 
ETC., ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


1908 , 



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THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 


CHAPTER L 

THE PROEM. 

‘ A man only understands that of which he has already the begin- 
nings in himself/— -Amiel’s Journal. 

I suppose if one were to look back over one’s past life that 
special days and hours would glide out of the darkness and 
stand out with almost mirage-like brightness against the 
dusky background, where all manner of confused childish 
fancies are hopelessly mingled together; that in our sober- 
eyed maturity we should be at times startled by the ghost of 
our child-life looking at us across the years with a tender 
pf^thos and pity that would appeal strongly to our inner con- 
sciousness. 

There is something touching, even to a commonplace mind,, 
in the memory of one’s childhood. Once upon a time we 
lived upon enchanted ground; we skimmed across our own; 
little plot of earth with irresponsible, birdlike motion; wei 
were as giddy as insects in the sunshine; our world wasi 
peopled with fairies; all sorts of delightful miracles took 
place before our eyes. True, the grown-up people were a little 
tiresome — they invented strange laws; to go to bed when one' 
was not sleepy, for example — but perhaps it was their nature 
to be tiresome. 

How well I remember a little scene painted on my memory 
in indelible colors! I can see it all so vividly — the brown 
wainscoted parlor, bright with firelight; outside, the snow 
falling, a noiseless white shower. The rest of the family had 
gone to cliurch, grumbling and protesting against the weather, 
and we two children had been left to amuse oach other, Jem 
proud of being left in cliarge of his little sister. 

We were sitting huddled up togeth^ on the low window- 


4 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHVRST,, 

seat with Pox^s ^Book of Martyrs^ between us, and Jem was 

f loating over the horribly realistic pictures with a relish of 
oyish curiosity. 

•' Jem,^ I exclaimed suddenly, ^when I grow up I mean to 
be a martyr!^ 

^ Don’t be a goose, Olga! Look at this fellow on the raeki 
he must be a plucky one, I should say.’ 

^ Don’t show me any more pictures, please,’ I pleaded^ 
* they make me feel bad. I am thinking of that poor lady n t 
the stake, and how brave she was. Mother says it is a grand 
thing to die for one’s religion; I heard her say so to Hubert^ 
When I am quite grown up and as tall as mother I mean to 
be a martyr.’ 

^ Oh, you silly!’ and here Jem looked at me with lofty 
contempt. ^As though people were burnt now 1 ’ 

^ No, not here — not in England; but among the savages, 
Jem.’ 

^ Oh, oh ! it is a female missionary you would be ! What ^ 
baby you are, Olga! Why, you cannot bear the least little 
bit of pain! You cried when your finger was pinched in the 
door the other day. Hallo ! what are you about ? ’ in an aa-* 
tonished voice. * Oh, you ninny 1 ’ 

But here Jem broke off to watch my proceedings with 
breathless interest. Stung by his boyish derision, and ele^ 
vated by my vague longing for njartyrdom, I walked up to 
the grate and thrust a small finger into the ruddy fiame. 

Shall I ever forget the fierce smart, the hot, throbbing an^ 
gttish of the next moment ? 

^Oh, Jem, it hurts! oh, I can’t bear it!’ and, throv/ing 
myself on the rug, I burst into heartbroken sobs. 

It was long before Jem could comfort me; the smart of 
my scorched finger had entered my childish soul. I had no 
longer any hope of belonging to the company of celestial 
maidens who had won their crowns. The desire was there, 
but the pain was too terrible; and there was Jem wiping 
away my tears, and every now and then breaking into a shout 
of boyish laughter. 

‘ What a queer little thing you are, Olga ! I don’t believe 
another child would have done it.’ 

* Don’t tell Hubert,’ I whispered, for Jem was cuddling mo 
so nicely that I was in a fair way to be comforted. 

I did not mind Jem laughing one bit while his eyes looked 
so kind; but if Hubert should hear it! Why did we always 
say that ? and yet there ere but three of us—^Hubert and 
Jem and II 


THE PROEM, 


5 


I wonder if the grown-up Olga is so much wiser than the 
child Olga, who scorched her chubby finger in the desire to 
prove herself strong enough for martyrdom. Sometimes even 
now I have had wild dreams of self-sacrifice, and then have 
shrunk back at the mere thought of testing them. ‘Ob, 
Jem, it hurts; I cannot bear it!^ J. seem to hear the old 
childish n6te of pain ringing in my ears now. ‘Olga, you 
are a dredmer of dreams,^ Hubert has said to mo more thriii 
once, and has quoted Kingsley’s beautiful words, ‘ Do nOble 
things, not dream them all day long.’ Indeed, he recited 
the whole poem one day to Kitty and me.. Kitty sighed and 
said it was very true, but I held my peace; I loved that little 
poem so. Jem and I knew it by heart; and Hubert had 
spoiled it by repeating it in that measured voice. I never 
liked Hubert to read poetry to me. 

Jem often told me that I was unjust to Hubert; that I did 
hot make allowances for a slow, quiet nature. I dare say he 
was right; but though I w^as fond of Hubert as an elder 
brother, and tried to do my duty to him, and to bear with 
Kitty for his sake, I could not love him as I did Jem. 

Hubert was a great deal older than either of us; he was a 
full-grown man when Jem was a raw schoolboy. Several 
brothers and sisters had come between us and had died in 
infancy. On his deathbed my father had made Hubert our 
guardian; and when my mother died, and Hubert married 
Kitty, he brought us to his house. I remember how Jem 
and I begged to be allowed to live together, and how Hubert 
pooh-poohed the notion in that grand way of his. 

‘Who ever heard of a couple of children keeping house to- 
gether! Please don’t cry about it, Olga. Kitty and I hope 
to make you very comfortable; and there is the baby to amuse 
you when Jem goes to Oxford.’ 

I am sure now that Hubert meant to be kind, and that in his 
heart he was very sorry for us. Keither then nor afterwards 
did he complain of his added responsibilities; he made e.very 
possible arrangement for our comfort, and I am bound to 
say that Kitty seconded him. • They both welcomed us in the 
i kindest manner, and took pains to show us that we were not 
in the way; indeed, Kitty tried very hard to be a sister to me. 

Six years had passed since J em and I said good-by to our 
;dear old home and went to live at Fircroft. Things had 
changed much since then. Kitty had ceased to be the Kitty 
of old ; the dark-eyed, high-spirited girl who had welcomed 
us with girlish good-nature had developed into a pale, fretful 
^Kitty, who had lost all her kittenish round ness, and the 


6 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


bright winning ways that had first won Hubert^s heart. Per- 
haps the cares of motherhood oppressed her, or the children 
came too fast for her strength, or the monotonous routine of 
domestic life hardly suited her pleasure-loving nature ; but as 
the years went on Kitty grew careworn and peevish. Her 
very love for her husband and children developed into fretful 
anxiety for their well-being. She toiled early and late in 
their service, wdth no thought for her own comfort, taking 
all her husband's kindly attentions with a martyr-like meek- 
ness which at once puzzled and distressed him. 

Ever since his marriage Hubert had added private tuition 
to his curate’s work. He had three or four pupils living with 
him — ^young men who were backward, or in delicate health, 
or who wanted the services o"^ a private tutor. Jem stepped 
into one of these vacancies, and worked . under Hubert until 
he went up to Oxford. We were not utterly dependent on 
Hubert, which made things easier for us; for, with a gene- 
rosity for which we would not have given him credit, Hubert 
only repaid himself for our bare maintenance, and so made 
it possible for J em to realize his ambition of going to Oxford. 
The Kector of Brookfield was in bad health, and compelled 
to live abroad for a year or two, so Hubert was practically 
curate-in-charge, and his parochial duties, combined with his 
pupils, kept him fully employed. 

I was very happy at Fircroft when Jem was with me, for 
he was always ready to listen to my grievances, and sympa- 
thize with my disappointments; but his first term at Oxford 
was a severe ordeal for me. The pupils did not interest me. 
Kitty was too much engrossed with her domestic duties, and 
too over-weighted altogether to be a companion to a girl of 
nineteen ; and if it had not been for the ladies at the Hall — 
and especially Aunt Catherine, as Jem and I called her— I 
should have had rather a dull life; and yet I tried to do my 
duty to Kitty and the chiMren, and kept all my discontent 
to myself. 

Why is it, I wonder, that we are so dependent on our en- 
vironment ? that we are so clogged by circumstance ? that we 
are unable to rise abo’^e the low level of every-day life ? Why 
did Hubert’s commonplaces and dry matter-of-fact reduce 
me to indignant silence, while Jem’s mockery and masculine 
disdain of sentiment only stimulated and amused me ? AVhy 
did Kitty’s plaintive goodness try me more than downright 
selfishness would have done ? Why was I so critical of my 
belongings, so observant of their short-comings ? Why, in- 
deed! 


THE PROEM. 


7 



One day I read a passage in a book of Aunt Catherine’s 
that struck me greatly. It was written by a man who had 
let all his opportunities slip, and whose life was a failure. 
^ And yet this Amiel was a kindly, gifted creature, with noble 
impulses and a warm heart, and a lofty intellect; but intense 
timidity and distrust, and an unwholesome habit of intro- 
spection and subtle self-criticism spoiled his life-work. ‘ The 
man who insists upon seeing with perfect clearness before he 
decides, never decides,’ as he himself truly says; ^accept life, 
iind you accept regret.’ 

But the passage that touched me most was this : ^ Recog- 
nize your place; let the living live;, and you, gather, together 
your thoughts; leave behind you a legacy, of feelings and 
(ideas. You will be most useful so. Renounce yourself; ac- 
<lBept the cup given you, with its honey and its gall, as it comes.’ 

‘ Gather together your thoughts ; leave behind you a legacy 
bf feelings and ideas. You will be most useful so.’ I cannot 
^tell why the words haunted me. Could a girl’s thoughts and 
feelings benefit any human being ? Is there anything in my 
small experience that could interest or encourage a fellow- 
creature? That is what I want to know; that is why I am* 
ransacking the past in the hope of finding a stray pearl or 
two of wisdom. The child Olga scorched her finger in the 
presumptuous search for martyrdom'. Perhaps, after all, the 
girl Olga was no wiser. 


I was sitting in the garden one afternoon overlooking the 
fcliildren at their play. Kitty was mending, as usual, in the 
great empty dining-room; her head ached, and her voice had 
been more plaintive than usual, as she reluctantly yielded to 
my request for work. 

‘ There is no need for you to slave, too, Olga,’ she said, with 
a certain thinness and acerbity of tone that she always used 
when she was cross, poor little soul ! ^ Of course it is my 

duty; but, as Jem said yesterday, you were not to be. made a 
drudge.’ 

So that speech had rankled. It was only one of Jem’s 
foolish blunders. Jem had been put out because I stayed to 
^elp Kitty in the nursery, instead of going down, to the Hall 
garden with him to hear the nightingales. It was just a fit 
of boyish impatience that meant nothing. But Kitty had 
fretted over it in tearful fashion all the evening, and here it 
was turning up again, as such ill-favored weeds of speech 
Jiave a knack of doing. 

^Please* let me have Wilfred’s tunic to finish,’ I returned 


8 


THE t^EARCn FOR RASTL LYNDHURST, 

quickly, ^for I never care to be idle;’ and I stretched out my 
hand for the work — for it was no use arguing with Kitty 
when she was in this mood — and carried it olf in triumph. 
But before I was half-way down the lawn my conscience 
began to prick me: why could I not have said something 
kind to cheer her for the rest of the afternoon ? Kitty always 
looked happier if Jem or I said a kind word to her. And 
here again a speech of my favorite Amiel seemed to prick me 
with fine needle-like sharpness, for it was so true: ^ Oh! let us 
not wait to be just, or pitiful, or demonstrative toward those 
we love until they or we are struck down by illness or threat- 
ened with death ! Life is short, and v/e have never too much 
time for gladdening the hearts of those who are travelling 
the dark journey with us. Oh, be swift to love ; make haste to 
be kind!’ With a sudden impulse I went back through the 
dining-room window just as Hubert entered it by the door. 

‘ My dear, are you very busy ? ’ with a rueful glance at his 
wife’s overflowing work-basket. 

am always busy, Hubert,’ returned Kitty rather severely; 
' but of course if you want me ’ 

^It is only those letters; they must be answered before 
post-time, and I have to g'o down to the schools; but you 
seem rather overwhelmed, so perhaps Olga might help me/ 
looking at me rather beseechingly. 

^Ko, no,’ replied Kitty hastily; ^give them to me, Hubert. 
It was only last night that Jem complained that we had turned 
Olga into a perfect drudge, and that she never had time for 
anything. I would rather slave night and day than hear J em 
say that again.’ 

‘ My dear, what can you mean ? ’ and Hubert looked at us 
both in solemn disappro\al. Kitty’s sharp little speeches 
always took him by surprise; he had a habit of laboriously 
picking them to pieces to find out their meaning, which was 
just going on the wrong tack with Kitty, for when people 
say more than they mean, it is never well to take them liter- 
ally ; but Hubert wa^ literal and exact by nature. 

‘Kitty it talking nonsense,’ I interposed. ‘Jem meant 
nothing by his speech; he does not really think I am put 
upon, for he knows I like to be useful. If you want me to 
write your letters, Hubert, you must say so quickly, as the 
clfildren are waiting for me in the garden.’ 

‘I always write Hubert’s letters/ replied Kitty with dig- 
nity, for she was not above jealousy, and on certain occasions 
would stand on her wdfely rights. ‘ Put them down beside 
me, Hubert, and they shall be ready by post-time. And you 


THE PROEM. 


9 


may say what yon like, Olga, for you always take Jem^s part, 
but he really meant what he said — that we take advantage of 
you. It is not the first time Jem has made these speeches.^ 

‘Well, well, have your own way, Kitty,^ I said wearily; for 
I found the discussion fatiguing. I left Hubert to hear the 
remainder, > and to groan in spirit over Jem's selfishness. 
Somehow my afternoon's enjoyment was spoiled — human 
misunderstanding had thrown a shadow over the sunshine. 
But I was rather taken aback when I heard Hubert's foot- 
steps following me. 

‘ You are too quick, Olga,' he said reproachfully. ‘ I wanted 
to ask you a question. Is it Kitty's fancy, or does Jem really 
think we put upon you ? ' 

‘You had better ask him,' I returned scornfully. And 
then I relented -at the sight of his evident perplexity. ‘ Oh 
no, Hubert; Jem never meant it at all. He was only cross 
for the moment because I could not attend to him. Why 
will Kitty make a fuss over every little word ? ' 

‘ She is very sensitive. J cm knows that, and ought to bo 
more careful.' 

‘You cannot e:^ect a young man always to measure his 
words, Hubert. Jem is far too kind-hearted to give pain 
consciously. Kitty is too exacting.' 

‘You must not find fault with her to her husband, Olga;' 
and I knew by Hubert's voice that ho was much displeased. 
‘Kitty has far too much to do, and she is not as strong as 
she ought to be. I think you and Jem might make allow- 
ances for slight irritability, if not for Kitty's, at least for my 
sake.' 

I liked Hubert all the better for standing up for his wife.’ 
If .1 had a husband I would not allow any one to find fault 
with him, I am quite sure of that. But, all the same, I was 
bound to defend Jem, and it seemed to me as though Hubert 
was attacking me personally. 

‘I am always ready to help Kitty,' I returned in an injured 
tone; ‘neither you nor she has any cause to complain of my 
conduct. It is not quite fair to speak to me in that way.’ 

Hubert looked a little taken aback by this ; he was a quiet, 
even-tempered man, and was for peace at any price. 

‘Well, well, don't put yourself out, Olga. Of course .Kitty 
and I know we have no right to turn you into a household 
drudge, and, of course, we are very grateful for your assist- 
ance. You have always acted kindly by us, but as Kitty felt 
herself aggrieved by Jem's unlucky speech, I thought I must 
put matters right. I am not the least offended with you.' 


10 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


^1 would much rather you were offended with me than 
with J em/ 

^ How you do spoil that boy ! ^ And here Hubert looked at 
me reproachfully. ‘ Nothing Jem says or does is wrong.^ 

‘ Nonsense, Hubert ! ^ But all the same he was right. I 
Jiever could blame the dear fellow. I was a little touched 
when Hubert looked at me in that melancholy fashion, and 
stroked his coat-sleeve penitently. I believe he had a fatherly 
fondness for us both. Could it be possible that he was just a 
trifle jealous of Jem ? — that he thought his only sister should 
be more to him -was that the reason of his sad look ? ‘ Don’t 
talk any more, Hubert,’ I said, dismissing him with a smile; 

want to finish Wilfred’s tunic. Go back to Kitty, and 
, cheer her up a little.’ 

^ No ; I must go to the schools.’ 

But he took my hint, and walked off. I watched him 
across the lawn. Many people admired Hubert; Kitty did 
with all her heart. He was a fair, gentlemanly-looking man, 
and his beard and spectacles were imposing. He was slightly 
bald, too, which gave him a patriarchal appearance; but to 
me his face was like his sermons — heavy, sensible, and want- 
ing in animation. Hubert had one very tiresome fault — he 
could not understand a joke. Jem and I puzzled him dread- 
fully at times. He would look at us and shake his head, and 
then go on with some learned disquisition intended for our 
edification. I am afraid the pupils took advantage of this 
want of humor, Mr. Vivian especially. 

The children were playing under the big mulberry-tree, 
Hugh in charge of the twins as usual, and Girlie-ga — ^as baby 
called herself — toddling over the grass, hand in hand with 
Wilfred. She screamed with delight and dropped Wilfred’s 
hand at the sight of me. Her big white sun-bonnet hud 
tumbled off, and the rough yellowish curls shone like gold 
in the sunlight, as she stumped up to me on her little fat legs, 
and emptied lier pinafore into my lap with the lavish gener- 
osity of infancy flinging its all with both hands. ^ Go’s dot 
’em now,’ she said, looking lovingly at the cropped daisies 
and languishing buttercups. How easy to forget one’s griev- 
ances in the sunshine ! As I sat with the children playing 
round me, I felt that it was a lovely world after all. 

The white butterflies were skimming over the flower-beds, 
and the great brown bees were humming secrets among the 
hives. Hugh’s fan tail pigeons were strutting about the roof, 
and the deep cawing of rooks sounded from the Hall grounds. 
Some thrushes were singing in the shrubbery, and a pair of 


THE LADIES AT THE HALL. 


11 


linnets were twittering in their nest above us. The freshness 
and sweetness of early summer were over everything. They 
would soon be making hay in the Hall meadows. Fircroft 
was a rambling old house without any pretension to beauty, 
but the garden was delightful. A tennis-lawn lay before the 
drawing-room windows, closed round by shrubberies. This 
led to the Surprise, as the children called a small inner lawn, 
with a mulberry-tree and a medlar, and surrounded by beds 
of old-fashioned flowers which bloomed in their season : 
bushes of spiky lavender and tall gleaming lilies, and lady^s 
lilies and St. John^s, spicy carnations and humbler pinks, 
lupins and hollyhocks, and quaint old monk^s-hood; even the 
much-despised London-pride and sweet-william kept company 
with sweet peas and nasturtiums— a veritable wilderness of 
sweets, very different to the stiff beds of geraniums and ver- 
bena which were Hubert’s special pride. The Surprise was 
the children’s play-ground; here on summer afternoons the 
twins sat in the low branches of the medlar-tree with their 
favorite dolls, and the black and white kitten. Smut, while 
Hugh and Wilfred worked in their gardens, and I sat reading 
or working with dear old Kollo at my feet. 

Kollo was my dog. Mr. Vivian had given him to me when 
he was only a puppy ; he was a splendid black retriever with 
a beautiful head, and was my constant friend and companion. 
When Jem went to Oxford, Kollo quite seemed to understand 
that I was in need of sympathy. I have seen him look at me 
— well, not with actual tears in his eyes, though I do believe 
dogs cry sometimes, but with such a pathetic expression in 
them, as though he were sorry for me, and wanted to comfort 
me in his doggish fashion. 


CHAPTEK 11. 

THE LADIES AT THE HALL. 

‘ What deep interest there would be in the most commonplace so- 
ciety if we could associate with human beings in this wondering-, in- 
quiring way, exactly as the chemist interrogates every new subject^ 
by innumerable tests, until he has discovered its properties and affin- 
ities.''— Rev. Frederick Robertson. 

An hour afterward a light, springy step sounded on the 
gravel path behind me, and a rough tweed coat-sleeve ’was in- 
terposed between me and my work. 


12 


THB ^BARCn FOR BASIL LYNDIIURST. 


^ No, Jem, I am not a bit startled!’ I returned, coolly keep- 
ing the big brown hand prisoner; and then I drew him down 
beside me with a welcoming smile. 

I am afraid it v/oiild not be right to call Jem handsome. 
He was very big, and strong, and brown ; but he had not a 
fine profile like Hubert, and his features were blunt and ir- 
regular. But I liked his honest eyes, and his bright smile, 
and the merry laugh that always seemed to lighten one’s 
heart, and 1 think I was even more proud than Jem himself 
of the dear little budding moustache that looked so fine and 
silky. ^As though it matters whether a man is handsome or 
not,’ as I would say to Kitty, v/hen she vaunted of Hubert’s 
good looks, and wondered why Jem was so different to his 
brother. In my heart I admired Jem excessively, and thought 
I had never seen a finer young fellow. I liked his strength 
and his skill in athletic sports. He was a fine cricketer and 
a good oarsman, and he could swim, and shoot, and ride, so it 
was no wonder that he did not work quite as hard as other 
men; besides which, he was so popular at Oxford that one 
need not be surprised if he were just a little bit spoilt. 

^ What have you been doing all the afternoon, Jem ?’ 

^Oh, Vivian and Campbell and I started for Drayton, but 
there was something wrong with my bicycle, so I had to come 
back — and a precious long walk I had; and just by the Hall 
I met Aunt Catherine, and she asked if you would come up 
to tea, and so I said I would bring you : but it seems that 
would not do — Mrs. Lyndhurst is not so well as usual, and 
poor Aunt Catherine looked a bit worried.’ 

‘ Do you really think she wants me, Jem ?’ 

suppose so,’ flinging up his straw hat and catching it 
again, for Jem could not be still a moment. ^ She said, “ Olga 
has not been here for a week, and I am sure Virginia misses 
her ; ” the meaning of that is pretty evident.’ 

^ Yes,’ hesitating a little; ^but I don’t want to tell Aunt 
Catherine why I kept away. I think Kitty is a little hurt 
that they never ask her now — sbe says it is such a slight, and 
she complained to Hubert about it : but how can I help it if 
they like me best ? ’ 

^ Kitty is a humbug,’ returned J em, in a disgusted tone; 
^as though she, and Hubert too, do not know what you and 
Aunt Catherine are to each other!’ 

^Yes, indeed. 1 have always loved her so,’ with tears m 
my voice. ^ I can never forget how kind she was to us both 
when we first came to Fircroft ; she made our life ever so 
much happier.’ 


THE LADIES AT THE HALL. 


iu 

^Of course, she is a. trump; I always told you so. I wish 
she were our real aunt~don^c yuUj. Olga ? I should not mind 
being her favorite nephew.’ 

‘You mercenary boy! but there is Mrs. Lyndhurst to con- 
sider — the Hall really belongs to her. Aunt Catherine is not 
such a rich woman, after all ; at least, her sister seems to have 
the lion’s share/ 

‘ Indeed, you are wrong; they are coheiresses. But I believe 
the old squire left in his will, that if either of his daughters 
had a son, the Hall was to go to him when he came of age. 
I don’t know how they will arrange matters now; perhaps 
there may be a chance for me, after all. I shall not a bit 
mind taking the name of Sefton — that is only a detail; and 
then you can come and live with me, and lord it over Kitty.’ 

No; nonsense, JflmJ how you talk! but I can’t stop to 
listen to you. I shad go across in my garden-hat and you 
shall tell Kitty that Aunt Catherine sent me a message; if I 
go back to the house there will be another discussion and 
more grumbling. Oh, Jem, if I were only as free as air!’ 
stretching my arms over my head, and drinking in a deep 
draught of the sweet summer air. 

Jem looked at me with full understanding and sympathy, 
and then whistled to Rollo. Nurse had just come in search 
of the children, so I folded up my work and gave it to her, 
and then we sauntered down the kitchen-garden, between 
apple and cherry trees, until we reached a door in th^ wall. 
This opened into a green paddock, where our one cow. Ruddy, 
was feeding. She was a pretty creature, with a soft, tawny 
coat and great wondering eyes, full of unconscious wisdom, 
that reminded me of Aunt Catherine’s. Ruddy was quite a 
pet; she followed us all down the paddock in suite of Rollo, 
and when I turned to stroke her she thrust ner cold, wet 
nose into my hand, and rubbed her horns gently against me. 

‘If you. are late I shall come and fetch you,’ were Jem’s 
parting words, as he let me through the gate ; and then he 
leant over it and watched me until I turned the corner, and 
I could hear him singing the Eton boating song at the top of 
his voice, as I walked down the elm avenue that led to the 
Hall. 

Brookfield Hall was a gray old house, hardly as pretentious 
as its name; it had no special beauty of architecture, but it 
had a staid, venerable look, as though its gray roof had shel- 
tered generation after generation ; for even as far back as the 
time of the blessed martyr Charles, — whose memory I secretly 
y^orshipped — many a fair Sefton dame had strolled down the 


14 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNVHURST, 


elm avenue and listened to the same cawing of rooks, or had 
diverted herself with pulling posies in the stiff old garden, 
where peaches and nectarines still grew against the sunn^/ 
walls, and where many a generation of peacocks had perched 
on the mossy sundial. 

How Jem and I loved that garden! — though I have heard 
people call it old-fashioned and out of date, and marvel openly 
at* Miss Sefton’s preference for homely flowers. But to Aunt 
Catherine it was full of historic interest. She loved the 
smooth grassy terrace, planted with elms, that lay on one side, 
where a certain Gwendoline Sefton used to meet her Puritan 
lover. The story ran that the poor young man was killed at 
Naseby by one of her brothers, Hugh Sefton. Anyhow, he 
never came again to the terrace. And Gwendoline watched 
for him evening after evening; and the rooks cawed, and the 
peacocks screamed from the sundial, and the nightingales 
sang in the shrubberies, and still she W'atched for him in the 
summer moonliglit, or when the winter snow lay on the Hall 
garden, and if any one crossed her path she asked them the 
same question, ‘ Have you seen Ralph Annersley, whom they 
call Ralph the Iron-Heart, for methinks he is long in coming 
this evening For you see she was mad, this poor Gwendo- 
line — crazy with long waiting, and I could not have borne to 
have listened so often to her story but for the comfort 
of the end. For joy came to her on her dying bed, when she 
was an old woman with hair white as the winter snows; for, 
as they were praying beside her, she suddenly looked at them, 
and there was a wonderful light in her eyes, and she ceased 
her aimless mutterings, and said, in the clearest possible 
voice, ^ Yea, for is it not written, ‘^Heaviness may endure for 
a night, but joy conieth in the morning ? For truly I shall 
meet my beloved again — my Ralph of the Iron-Heart — in the 
world where none shall ever say farewell!^ 

Ah, well! they are re-united now. But how pitiful to' 
think of that long life, filled with one maddening thought, 
one long waiting for the Impossible, the whole of God^s fair 
creation walled up and stifled in one crushed brain I If one 
were to love like that — God forbid! — it were better to. taste 
death at once. But Gwendoline’s story had ever haunted 
nle ; and, though I loved the terrace on a fine summer’s morn- 
ing or in the full glory of the afternoon, twilight always ban- 
ished me from the spot. I could not have paced under those 
dark trees alone without fancying I heard a soft footfall 
behind me; and though I have no abject belief in ghosts. 


THE LADIES AT THE HALL. 15 

Bfcill, if a white figure were suddenly to start up and wring ita 
hands, I 

^ Dreaming as usual, Olga ? ’ 

' Aunt Catherine,^ in a confused voice, for there was Miss 
Sefton standing in my path> and I could see the amused look 
in' her eyes, ‘I was thinking of the Lady Gwendoline,^ I 
bhirted out. ^ What put her into my head, I wonder ? ^ And 
then Miss Sefton laughed as she kissed me. 

^ I think Mr. Leigh is right. You are an inveterate dreamer, 
Olga AVe shall have to cure you — Jem and I. But how late 
you are, my dear; they are bringing tea, and Virginia has 
been in the drawing-room for the last hour. Look at these 
lovely roses. I have been gathering them from my favorite 
tree. You shall have one of them to enliven your sombre 
gown. Never mind, it is a very pretty gown ^ — with an ap- 
proving smile — ^though it is a little too dark to suit you, 
Olga. But then, you know*, I like young people to be gay.' 

‘Jem asked me the other day why you always wore black,^ 
Aunt Oatherine,' I observed rather wickedly, as I took the 
spray of roses from he^* hand. 

‘ Because a plain, middle-aged woman always looks best in 
black,' was the imperturbable response. ‘Now, Olga' — as I 
was inclined to contradict this blunt statement — ‘don't argue 
on srch an uninteresting subject. When, I was your age li 
remember fretting for a good hour because I had overheard 
some ill-conditioned visitor speak of me as the plain Miss 
Sefton, and I bemoaned myself bitterly because I was not as 
handsome as Virginia. But, my dear, age offers us delicate 
compensations. We outlive our morbid griefs and youthful 
ambitions. I should feel no special pang now if any one 
called me the' plain Miss Sefton, I have buried all that,' 
finished Aunt Catherine quaintly, with the smile that was her 
great charm, for she knew that Jem and I admired her with 
all our hearts, with that finest admiration that is born of love. 

‘She has such a dear face,' as I said once to Jem. 

‘Yes, a\^fully jolly, don't you know,' was Jem's answer. 

But is was quite true that Aunt Catherine had been no 
beauty in her youth — one understood that in a moment; 
but she had a pleasant, thoughtful face, and eyes that were 
wonderfully young and clear, and her brown hair was just 
threaded here and there with gray. In spite of her forty-five 
years. Aunt Catherine was slow in growing old. Her youth 
lingered strangely; her figure was still almost girlish in its 
willowy grace ; she had not forgotten how to blush at times 
when she was pleased or excited. There would be a vividness, 


16 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST 


a deptii in her gray eyes Jfchal tool: one by surprise. - Now and 
then there would be bursts of . eloquence— pictures*que, unre- 
strained/ disjointed— as though something in her. nature had 
been repressed and must find vent. 

This made Aunt Catherine' so interestingf she had no cuiP 
5,nd»dried formulas of actions; no middle-aged mannerisms 
r— she was so unlike other people. So few persons nowadays 
dare to assert any special individuality; they prefer a polite,* 
discreet, mummydike swathing. / Now Aunt Catherine was a 
real, imperfect woman, true to the core, simnly^because she 
was herself. 

^Mrs. Lyndhurst is not so well to-day, JeriT tens me,^ I ob^ 
served as I followed Seftqn into^the big square hall, 
somewhat dimly lighted by a large stained window, the hand- 
some oak furniture making it still darker. But I had an odd 
sort of reverence for those carved cabinets; and what talks 
Aunt Catherine and I had had on that oak- settle that stood' 
before the great fireplace, now full of fir-cones ! ^ In winter a 
glorious fire was always burning, before which Mrs. Lynd- 
hurst’s favorite pug, Nix, loved to bask, curled . up on the 
tiger-skin. _ 

Aunt Catherine shook her head rather sadly at my question. 

^She is never well; I think she grows more restless every 
day. She has much to bear — more than most of us;^ and 
then she threw down her garden-hat and gloves, and, still 
carrying her roses, led the way to the drawing-room. 

^ Olga is here,’ she observed in a very different voice, into 
which a little cheerfulness was evidently forced. ‘ I hope we 
have not kept you waiting for your tea, Virginia ?’ 

‘ What does it matter, Catherine ! ’ was the indifferent reply ,1 
as Mrs, Lyndhurst put down her knitting and held out her 
hand to me with her usual gentle smile. ‘ How are you, my, 
dear ? lam glad to-see you^ You have not been near us for 
a week, Olga — a whole week; but I. suppose you find us dull 
company ? ’ 

I laughingly disclaimed this speech, and sat down by Mrs.^ 
Lyndhurst. I was very fond of her, and very sorry for her; 
but I did not love her as I did our dear Aunt Catherine. 
Per nature was a depressing one, especially to young people 
—trouble had aggravated a natural low and morbid tempera- 
ment — and in spite of her gentleness and a sort of attractive 
softness that was very winning to strangers, I often found 
Mrs. Lyndhurst exceedingly trying. Diseased sensibility, 
unhealthy views of life, and the incessant breedings of self- 
consciousness are singularly repellent to youth. At times I 


THE LADIES AT THE HALL. 


17 


felt a sense of impatience, of critical disapproval. AV hy did 
Mrs. Lyndhurst weakly succumb to her troubles? Why 
had she suffered them to overmaster and crush her, instead of 
overliving them as other women did ? Why did she burthen 
Aunt Catherine with this weary charge — the responsibility 
which the stronger and more selfless nature always takes upon! 
itself ? Aunt Catheiune never spoke of her sister’s trouble — 
never mentioned her except in a tone of divine pity, such as 
one might use to a sick child. ^Virginia had so much to 
bear;’ and yet the little Brookfleld knew of her story hardly; 
accounted for a melancholy "that at times bordered on despair. 
Unhappy marriages have never been rare in England. Many 
a woman has found wedlock not the state of bliss she imag- 
ined it, and has dragged on a miserable and disappointed life; 
and. Mrs. Lyndhurst’s married life had been a brief one, 

Hubert had told me the little I knew on the subject;, but I 
had no idea how he had gained his information. 

The old squiYe had been a hard-natured man, with an ob- 
stinate temper, and a most exaggerated notion of his own 
importance' and dignity. His wife and daughters had been 
greatly in awe of him, and even Mrs. Lyndhurst, who had 
been his favorite, had not dared openly to contest his will. 

During a winter spent in Rome, a young artist, Paul Lynd- 
hurst by name> had been much in their company, and a secret 
attachment between him and Virginia had been the result. 
The only one who was cognizant of the state of affairs was 
Aunt Catherine, and she pleaded vainly and with tears that 
her sister should give him up. 

* It is an infatuation,’ she said over and over again^ ‘ He is 
not a good man. He is terribly handsome. He has fascinated 
you with his good looks and cleverness; but I distrust him, 
and father will never permit you to marry a poor artist.’ 

will never give him up,’ had been Virginia’s answer; ‘ I 
love him so that I am ready to die for him.’ And, alas! she 
made up her mind to live for him. The very day before tliey 
left Rome there was a secret marriage, and after a terrible 
scene, during which Mr. Sefton lashed himself into a state 
of fury, and forbade his daughter ever to enter his house 
again, Paul Lyndhurst took his wife away, and for months 
they did not .hear a word of poor Virginia. But one day — 
about two years after the unlucky marriage, a few months 
after Mrs. Sefton had died of a lingering disease — Virginia 
suddenly and unexpectedly made her appearance at the Hall. 
Hubert could tell mo no particulars of that return, or by 
what means the father’s wrath was appeased. Her husband 


18 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST, 


was still living, but she had left him forever. She looked ill 
and altered; ind^d, her health seemed permanently broken. 
Perhaps his wife^s death had softened the father’s heart for 
he did not refuse to take his child back; and during the last 
year of his life Virginia was his favorite companion. 

This w^as all I knew, and Aunt Catherine never spoke of 
the past. From the first she had accepted the sacred charge 
of her sister’s infirmities, and had shaped her own life to meet 
her sister’s requirements. 

I looked at Mrs. Lyndhurst as she rose to lay aside her 
work. She always walked feebly and slov/ly, as though she 
were tired to death; her graceful figure seemed to droop with 
fatigue. There was something pathetic in her appearance. 
She always wore a black gown that was almost widow-like in 
its straight, severe folds; but there were no delicate white 
finishes to the neck and cuffs. Instead of that relief she 
generally wore a black lace scarf wound loosely round her 
slim throat; this gave a strange contrast to her pale, sad face 
and silvery hair. Her eyes were dark and soft, and would 
have been beautiful except for their unrestful look. 

‘ Mrs. Lyndhurst always looks as th. ugh she has lost some- 
thing,’ Kitty once said in her shrewd way. I was foolish 
enough to repeat this speech to Aunt Catherine. I noticed 
that she colored, as though the remark did not please her. 

^She has lost her life’s happiness,^ she returned gently. 
‘Mrs. Leigh is right; but there are some losses that cannot 
be made up in this world — my poor Virginia’s is one of these.’, 

The drawing-room at the Hall was a charming room, with 
three windows opening on the Italian garden, as it was called 
— a straight stone terrace, with antique vases, leading down 
by steps to a long gravel walk bordered by gay flower-beds : 
this led to the Lady’s Walk. On the other side was the old 
Elizabethan garden, with the sunny south wall where the 
peaches grew, and where the peacock plumed himself on the 
sundial: this was Aunt Catherine’s special garden. Mrs. 
Lyndhurst, who had no love for flowers, preferred the elm 
avenue and the terrace where her unhappy ancestress had 
walked. I thought Mrs. Lyndhurst looked unusually ill this 
evening : her eyes were bright and feverish. She seemed dis- 
posed to be talkative. Aunt Catherine, on the contrary, was 
somewhat silent. 

‘ You are looking very well, Olga.’ 

‘lam perfectly well, thank you — in a state of rude health, 
as Jem expresses it.’ 

‘ I hope Mrs. Leigh is well also ? ^ 


THE LADIES AT THE HALL. 


19 


' Kitty is only so-so; slio is rather thin, and does far too 
mnch, and then Hubers worries himself about her. It is 
such a pity people cannot be sensible, Mrs. Lyndhurst, but 
that they will always attempt the proverbial last straw — 
Kitty always does/^ 

'She has ah anxious mind, I suppose;^ but evidently Mrs. 
Lyndhurst had not listened to my little tirade; she was fol- 
lowing out some thought of her own, for she spoke absently. 

' Olga,^ she continued in a different tone, ' do you think 
your sister-in-law could spare you ? We have such a nicet 
plan in our heads, Catherine and L May I tell Olga about 
it, Catherine ? ^ 

I thought Aunt Catherine seemed' a little startled at the 
question. 

' There is no hurry, is there, dear ? ^ she returned gently. 

' I never thought you meant to speak to the child this evening.^ 

‘No hurry repeated Mrs. Lyndhurst irritably; 'that is 
what you always say, Catherine — next week, next month, a 
year hence, what does it matter to you ? ^ with a singular in- 
flection on the last word; 'and yet you told Dr. Langham 
yesterday that it was all arranged.^ 

'And so it is arranged. Please do not excite yourself^ Vir- 
ginia. Have I ever gone from my word yet ? Olga,^ turning 
to me with the worried look I knew so well, that always told 
me so plainly that Mrs. Lyndhurst had been unusually exi- 
geante, ' my sister Avants me to tell you about our plan. I 
have to go abroad next month on business — a little family 
matter that has to be settled,^ and Aunt Catherine spoke 
somewhat nervously. ' Virginia does not like me to go alone, 
and St. Croix is a very pretty place. You have always wanted 
to see something of foreign life — do you think your mother 
and Mrs. Leigh could spare you ? It shall be no expense to 
you, I can promise you that, and I shall be very glad of your 
companionship;^ and here she paused and looked at me in- 
quiringly, and I suppose my face was sufficient answer. ' You 
would like it, Olga ? ^ 

'To shake off Brookfield dust for once in my life! Oh, if 
only Jem were here now! To go to St. Croix — with you — 
you! Oh, I must kiss you. Aunt Catherine! You are such 
a dear, you know! If only it is not too good to be true! ^ 

Mrs. Lyndhurst smiled benevolently over my girlish rhap- 
sodies; but why did Aunt Catherine look so grave — she who 
loved to give young people pleasure ? She even drew back, 
in a pained sort of way, when I kissed her. 

‘ I am going on business, Olga; you must understand that.^^ 


20 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHUR32\ 


^As though that matters to Olga/ interposed Mrs. Lynd- 
hurst anxiously; ^ there is nothing to prevent her amusing 
herself. Strange to say, my dear,^ addressing 'herself to me, 
‘ we have some English friends living at St. Croix, and they 
have agreed to let us have their house. Mrs. Milner^s father, 
a clergyman in Liverpool, is ill — dying, they fear — ^and they 
wish to come to England. The house is ours for three months 
if we like.^ 

^ But surely you are not going to St. Croix for three months. 
Aunt Catherine ! ^ I exclaimed. 

^ I should think not. I have fixed no time; perhaps a week 
or two may settle my business. I should not care to leave 
Virginia longer than I could help. If I could only have per- 
suaded her to come, too ! ’ and here Aunt Catherine looked 
wistfully at her sister. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst’s pale face grew paler than ever at this ap- 
peal. 

^What do you mean, Catherine?^ she said, in an alarmed 
voice; ^ have we not talked over all that — you and I? Do 
you not know me better than to propose it ? Do you think I 
have strength for such a journey ? ’ 

^ Dr. Langham has always recommended a sea- voyage. It 
is only twelve hours, Virginia.^ 

‘ It would kill me — I tell you it would kill me ! You are 
cruel, Catherine, to agitate me in this way. Nothing will in- 
duce, me to leave the Hall. If you do not v/ish to go, say so. 
I have no right to overburthen you. But the child will be 
disappointed, and the Milners too, for they thought every- 
thing was settled/ 

^And so it is settled, niy dear Virginia. What can you 
mean ? Have I not promised you solemnly to settle this busi- 
ness as well as I can ? Perhaps you could have made it easier 
for me, if you could have overcome your nervous dread of 
the journey; but we wOl not say any more about that. Olga, 
when you go home, perhaps you will speak to your brother 
and Mrs. Leigh about this. Or shall I call and ask* them 
myself ? You are not of age yet, you know,’ with a faint 
smile — why was Aunt Catherine so unlike herself ?—^and 
then there is Jem to consider.’ 

STem has a tutorship,’ I replied quickly. ^He leaves Fir- 
croft next week.’ 

^And most likely I shall start the week after. Well, settle 
it as you like, my dear; but I will undertake to talk over your 
brother, and if Mrs. Leigh should bo obdurate, you must send 
for me/ 


A UNT CATHEHmE. 21 

And then Aunt Catherine got up in a hurry, ^nd said sho 
must put her roses in water;* but I think she wanted to end 
the conversation, so I took the hint, and observed that Jem 
would be waiting for me. And then Aunt Catherine said 
that if I would wait a few minutes she would walk down the 
avenue with me. 


CHAPTER III. 

AUNT CATHERINE. 

‘ Like alone acts upon like. Therefore do not amend by reasoning, 
but by example ; approach feeling by feeling ; do not hope to excite 
love except by love. Be what you wish others to become. Let your- 
self, and not your words, preach.’ — Amiel’s Journal. 

I thought Mrs. Lyndhurst looked uneasy at this proposi- 
tion, but she said nothing until Aunt Catherine had carried 
away her flowers; when the door closed she beckoend me to 
her. 

^ You are pleased with my little plan, Olga?^ 

‘ Is it your plan, Mrs. Lyndhurst ? Oh yes, Lam delighted ! 
I shall not be able to sleep to-night; but are you sure Aunt 
Catherine wants me to go ? ^ 

^I think, after all, it was she who proposed it. We were 
talking over Mrs. Milner’s letter with Dr. Langham. Women 
cannot do without a man to advise them, and Dr. Langham 
has always been our confidant.* He was laying down the law 
to us after his usual fashion. Catherine must not go alone 
—she would be dull, and all that sort of thing; she must have 
some one to make things cheerful for her. And then Cathe- 
rine said,^‘‘ Very well, I will ask Olga to go. She has never 
been out of England, and the change will do her good;” and 
Dr. Langham gave a hearty assent, for you are a great favor- 
ite of his, my dear. Indeed, if he were only a little younger 

’ and then she looked at me meaningly, and of course I 

laughed, for this was an old joke — a very old joke indeed. 

Poor Mrs. Lyndhurst! as though Jem and I did not know 
better than that. AVhy, Brookfield was of a far different 
opinion; it privately held the notion that if the doctor had 
been a bolder man he would willingly have aspired to one of 
the ladies of the Hall, and that he was not indifferent* to Miss 
Sefton’s middle-aged comeliness. Now I cannot vouch for 


22 


THE SEARCH FOR EASIL LYEDHURST. 


the truth of this; it might only be village gossip after all. 
Brookfield, like most villages, was a scandalous little place> 
and made very free with its '^.eighbor^s name. Dr. Langham 
and Aunt Catherine were the best of friends. I think she 
had a sort of kindly feeling for him, and compassionated him 
^*or his bachelor loneliness; but as for any other thought, I 
am sure such a notion would never have entered her head. 
It was profanity to imagine it. Aunt Catherine was the sort 
of woman one would never dare to question on such subjects. 
Mrs. Lyndhurst would have her feeble little jokes; but I 
never heard Aunt Catherine talk about love or lovers, except 
in a very staid, sober way — only something in her manner, m 
her very avoidance -of such topics, made me think she held 
very solemn views on the subject. Any light talk on such 
matters displeased her, ‘ We ought not to joke on sacred 
things,’ I heard her say once; ^surely love — ^real love, I mean 
>—18 sacred.’ 

I was not ever likely to know if popular gossip were cor-» 
xect in crediting Dr. Langham with any special tenderness 
for Aun» Catherine; but he certainly respected and liked 
her more than any other woman, and was always ready to 
nelp her to the best of his powers. As for Aunt Catherine, 
she looked on him as a trusted friend, and always consulted 
him on all difiiculfcies; besides which, he was the guardian of 
her sister’s health and well-being, and I always suspected that 
he was deep in their confidence. 

‘ People are afraid of growing old/ sh^ once said to me-^ 
^they fea^ the loss of many of their pleasures; but I always 
maintain tliat every age hits its compensation. What can be 
better, fort example, than to watch new friendships grow 
Btrorger as we get older, to feel how they ripen and mature 
with the years ? We no longer fear that the friends of a life- 
time will grow weary of us and change > we have proved them, 
bon'^t yon recollect, Olga, what your favorite Amiel wrote? 
‘^ To know how to grow old is the master-work of wisdom, 
and one of the most difficult chapters in the great art of liv- 
ing.” And then again, and this well applies to the same 
subject, that hackneyed subject of growing old : Do not de- 
m)ise your situation; in it you must act, suffer, and conquer. 
From every point on earth we are equally near to heaven and 
to the Infinite.’’ I wish we discontented middle-aged people 
would take that to heart/ ^ 

How I loved the way Aunt Catherine talked! It was gen- 
erally when we two were together that she would break out 
Into one of these eloQuent little monologues. In mixed com«. 


A UNT a A THERINE. 


23 


pany she was rarely talkative; the light coinage of conven- 
tional intercourse never seemed to elicit much response. 
With me she was often grave; she liked to give me her views on 
life, books, duty, or any abstract subject. She called it ‘ work- 
ing off steam.' ‘ My mind is too closely packed,’ she said 
once. ^ I have crammed it with miscellaneous reading, and 
can only assimilate a certain amount of intellectual nourish- 
ment. The other day I was very much struck by a remark 
Kobertson made in one of his letters. I have copied it out 
^ for you, Olga. He says, Multifarious reading weakens the 
mind more than doing nothing, for it becomes a necessity at 
last, like smoking, and is an excuse to the mind to lie dor- 
mant; whilst thought is poured in, and runs through, a clear 
stream, over unproductive gravel, on which not even mosses 
grow. It is the idlest of all idlenesses, and has more of ini- 
potency than any other.” ’ 

Aunt Catherine was certainly not in one of her talking 
moods, when, af-er a brief delay, she joined me in the avenue; 
for though she took my arm in her old way, she did not once 
break the silence until the road was in sight, and then my 
impatience was not to be repressed any longer. 

‘Aunt Catherine,’ I burst outdn a tone of mingled affection 
and vexation, ‘ I do wish you would tell me what is troubling 
you; you are not a bit like yourself this evening. I am sure 
that you are not going to St. Croix for your pleasure or con- 
venience; some one is putting some troublesome business on 
your shoulders, and you are too kind to refuse to help. That 
is always the way; you never think of your own comfort.’ 

^ I think I told you that I was not going to St. Croix for 
pleasure, Olga.’ 

‘ But can no one else do the business ? ’ 

* Only Virginia, and you can see for yourself how the mere 
idea harasses her. She has never slept out of the Hall for a 
single night these last five-and-twenty years; it is one of her 
unhealthy fancies that any change would be bad for her. 
I think I love my home as much as any one, but I Tke to go 
away sometimes, if only for the pleasure of coming back. 
One has such a luxurious feeling of home-sickness towards 
the last, and that makes the welcome all the sweeter. I do 
not think any sound is more melodious to me than the caw- 
ing of our own rooks on the first evening of my return, after 
I have been away a week or two.’ 

‘ How can you help loving such a beautiful home ? I wish 
I could feel as much affection for j^ircroft. I am far too 
glad to leave it. Aunt Catherine, are you sure that I shall be 


24 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


any comfort to you; that there is no one else whose company 
you would prefer ? ^ 

^ No; you suit me exactly — how often haA’-e I told you that 
Olga!^ 

‘It is very strange/ I returned musingly; often wonder 
how you can find pleas^^re in the society of an insignificant 
girl— a clever woman like you ! ^ and then Aunt Catherine 
did summon up a smile. 

‘ You are not insignificant, Olga; the word does not suit 
you in the least, you have far too much individuality. Lik- 
ing becomes a habit, I believe, and I have grown to love you 
as my own child. This sort of adoption is very sweet. Sin- 
gle women are often lonely; but I have come to think that it 
is their own fault. With a world full of human beings, there 
must be some whom they can love and take into their 
lifer 

‘ I know I owe all my happiness to you/ I returned grate- 
fully. We had retraced our steps, and Were still walking over 
the crisp, short turf under the elms. ‘I should have had 
such a different life without you. Think what it would be if 
the Hall and you and Mrs. Lyndhurst were effaced from my 
existence ! How meagre and unsatisfactory everything would 
.vo! Only Hubert and Kitty and the children; 3ust dull prose 
— not a bit of poetry! Oh, the treats- you have given us! 
Jem and I count them up sometimes. Do you recollect those 
weeks at Hastings ? ^ 

‘ To be sure I do; you and Jem behaved like a couple of 
babies.^ 

‘ We were children let out of school. Oh, what fun we had I 
And then last summer, when you and I stayod at the Ean- 
dclph, was not that a glorious time ? If I live to a hundred 
I do not think I shall ever forget the quadrangle at Magdalen, 
with the moonlight silvering everything; and that afternoon 
in Addison^s Walk! And do you recollect how we came back 
to Jem’s room to tea, and the dark young man, whom they 
called the Atheist, dropped in, and he was not an Atheist at 
all — not even an Agnostic — though he had some queer ideas 
of his own. All Jem^s friends fell in love with you. Aunt 
Catherine; they could not help themselves. I was just no- 
body — only Leigh’s sister ; that was what they called me — 
Leigh’s sister. It was Miss Sefton round whom they crowded, 
even the Atheist; but as for poor little me, I was just Leigh’s 
sister — that was all.’ 

This sort of talk was doing Aunt Catherine good; to cer- 
Itain. fine natures nothing gives greater pleasure than to bo 


AUNT CATHERINE. 


2b 


hjminded that their very existence creates joy for some lives. 
Aunt Catherine was never satisfied with purely personal en- 
joyment; she was essentially a lady in its old-fashioned, 
Saxon meaning— the Hlaf weardige, - the bread-keeper — only 
she liked to break her loaf with others, to be perpetually dis- 
pensing largesse. I have often heard her groan over the bur- 
den of her own wealth. ^ There is too much,' she would say 
piteously, ^ there is far too much for Virginia and me to spend 
on our two selves. We have neither of us any luxurious 
tastes — Virginia does not understand art, neither do I. We 
have no kin — what is the use of filling the Hall with beauti- 
ful things just for us to enjoy, when we do not know who is 

to succeed us. If ' but here her face clouded, and a sort 

of wistful look came into her eyes, but she did not finish her 
sentence — ' If she had married and had children/ is that what 
she would have said ? 

Aunt Catherine had resumed her natural manner now, she 
even volunteered to be more explicit. 

‘I know you think me unsatisfactory this evening, Olga/ 
she observed by-and-by, when we had reached the Hall for the 
second time; 'but the fact is I am very much worried. Vir- 
ginia, poor dear, is a little unpractical. She and Dr. Lang- 
iham insist on my having a companion during my stay at St. 
jCroix, and without a/moment's hesitation I fixed on you; and 
now Virginia is unwilling that you should be told the object 
of our journey. Perhaps, in my heart, I am as unwilling as 
she; but how are you to be any help or comfort to me if I 
may not repose confidence in you ? You will go your way 
and I shall go mine, and there will be no question of pleasure 
for either of us; when you see me worried you will not ven- 
ture to question me, and as for me, my lips will be closed. 
" Why need we tell any one ? " that is all she says — you know 
Virginia's way.' 

I must confess I was somewhat hurt at this. They were 
so much to me, these two dear women, and I was so much to 
them; and now Mrs. Lyndhurst had judged me to be un- 
worthy of their confidence. I was only a girl, only Olga, it 
was safer to be silent ! 

Aunt Catherine looked in my face, and r. ad my thoughts. 

'No, you are not unworthy of our confidence/ she said 
quickly; ‘ if you are young you are reliable. Virginia knows 
that as well as I do. But there are difficulties, complications : 
it is a troublesome sort of business — you must let me think 
over it quietly. If I make up my mind that it is necessary 
to tell you, Virginia will have to yield, for I shall go only on 


26 THE SHAHCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

my own terms. I think, after all, the chief difficulty consists 
in my own reluctance to tell a painful story 

Of course, after this there was nothing more to be said, and 
1 was ready to go to St. Croix in passive ignorance if she 
wished it. Nothing could really cloud the pleasure of our 
intercourse. I was not partibulariy curious by nature, or given 
to meddle in other folks’ business, whatever Jem might in- 
sinuate to the contrary; so I only begged Aunt Catherine not 
to disturb herself. ^ Whatever you decide will be right,’ I ob- 
served conclusively, when at last I bade her good-by. 

I wanted Jem to be the first to hear my wonderful piece of 
news, but to my disappointment he was playing tennis with 
Hubert, and Kitty was sitting in her long cane chair outside 
the drawing-room window watching them. She was wrapped 
in her favorite gray woollen shawl, and looked very tired and 
bored. I knew just as well as though I had heard him that 
Hubert had coaxed her to put away her work and rest a little 
— ^he had made her believe that he would enjoy his g'^me all 
the more if she were looking on, and it was not in her wifely 
soul to refuse compliance with his request after such a com- 
pliment. 

^ Forty — ^love,’ shouted Jem, for he always beat Hubert, and 
then he waved to me with his racquet, and Kitty looked up 
at me with a dubious sort of smile. 

^ You might have told me you were going to the Hall,’ were 
her first words as I sat down beside her. 

^ Mights ’ and ^ oughts ’ made up a great part of Kitty’s con- 
versation. 

‘I was in the Surprise when Jem brought me Aunt Cath- 
erine’s message,’ was my suave answer, for I could afiord to 
be good-natured this evening, ^ and it was too much trouble 
to come up to the house. Jem told you where I was gone ? ’ 

^ Yes, Jem told me when I was tired of wondering why you 
Sdid not come in to tea. Of course, you are your own mis- 
tress, Olga’ (I wish I were); ‘but you might have thought I 
should like to send a message,’ (A second ‘might,’ now for 
an ‘ought.’) ‘I wish you were more thoughtful in little 
things.’ 

I took no notice of this dignified rebuke, which meant that 
Kitty would have liked an invitation too. 

‘ It is such a warm evening,’ I observed carelessly, ‘ how can 
you muffle yourself in that shawl ? ’ 

‘ I am never warm now,’ she replied, and she actually shiv- 
ered as she spoke. ‘ Hubert wanted me to sit out here; but I 
would much rather go in — I have not half finished my work;’ 


AfJNT CATHERINE, 


27 


but here she caught Hubert’s eye, or more truly, the gleam 
of his eyes through his spectacles, and nodded and smiled arty 
him in her old sprightly way. 

What a pretty creature she had been when Hubert first 
brought her home ! Even now, when anything pleased her 
and she looked bright and animated, and the color came to 
her face, and her eyes got dark and big, she reminded me of 
the Kitty of old. I do not believe Hubert noticed the 
change in her; he admired her as much as ever in his simple, 
honest way. I have seen him gazing at her through his 
spectacles in the most lover-like manner; and,, to do her 
justice, she admired him just as much in return. 

wish Hubert played as well as Jem,’ she said rather 
disconsolately, as another ^ fifteen— thirty ’ reached our ears. 
^ Jem has bden beating him all the time, and yet Hubert is so 
fond of the game.’ 

‘ I don’t believe Hubert minds being beaten. He knows 
Jem is a crack player, as Harry calls him. He should not 
play single against Jem; they are not evenly matched. Mr. 
Cunningham is a better opponent for Hubert.’ 

should like him to win one game,’ returned Kitty 
rather pathetically, as her eyes followed the two players. ‘ I 
dare say you think me foolish, but you will understand it 
yourself, one day, how one likes one’s husband to win.’ 

‘ ^ Even in a game,’ rather sarcastically, fqr I thought pathos 

a little out of place here.. 

To bring strong feelings into the trifling amusements of life 
seemed to me as wise as children playing at soldiers with 
real swords; we should be sure to cut and wound each other 
all daj long. But, then, Kitty never liked Jem to excel in 
anything. It was my private opinion that she shut her eyes 
wilffilly to Hubert s slowness, and that she ^ made believe,’ 
as children say, that he was the wisest and cleverest of 
men. 

I thought it better to change the subject, lor really Jem 
was playing splendidly. His lithe, agile figure seemed liter- 
ally to bound over the grass; he never seemed to miss a ball. 
Hubert was blundering more than usual; so I distracted 
Kitty’s attention by telling her of Aunt Catherine’s proposi- 
tion. 

She listened to me in silence. 

^ You are a very fortunate girl, Olga,’ she said, when I had' 
finished my recital; ‘people always seem to take a fancy to 
you;’ and here she paused and looked at me in a critical sort 
of way. 


28 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


* I wonder why people take a fancy to you ? * was evidently 
her unuttered thought. 

‘I am sure I don^t know/ was my careless answer; but 
Kitty started and colored as though I had read her truly. 

^ Of course, you are very nice, dear,^ she went on, with ready 
repentance. ‘ When I was a girl people took a fancy to mo 
too; but that is so long ago.^ 

^ You were so pretty that people could not help falling in 
love with you.^ 

^ Well, I suppose noV was her candid answer; for, with all 
her faults, Kitty was singularly devoid of vanity. She liked 
Hubert to admire her, but, with that exception, she cared 
little for compliments. ^ But many people think you are nice- 
looking, too, Olga — that is, v/hen you take pains with your- 
self.^ 

^ Thank you, Kitty, ^ I returned gratefully, for I knew that 
she had done her utmost for mo in that sentence. My glass 
had long ago told me that I was no beauty, and Jem^s brotherly 
frankness had not left room for doubts. 

^ Hubert is the only good-looking one of. the family,^ he 
said once ; ^ for a girl you are very so-so; your complexion is all 
right, but your upper lip is too long, and your nose is just 
what a nose ought not be, and your forehead is too high. I 
like a forehead to be like ClyteX low and broad. Yes, your 
eyes are nice — but there, what does it matter ? we are all as 
fond of you as though you w^ere a daughter of Venus,^ and 
after this speech I had no farther illusions on the subject of 
my personal beauty. 

^Aunt Catherine is anxious to knov/ if you can spare me, 5 
I went on, for Kitty seemed in such a comfortable frame of 
mind. Unfortunately this seemingly harmless remark grazed 
her sensibilities too closely. I knew by the way she pursed 
up her pretty little mouth — Kitty had such a pretty mouth 
— that she was thinking of Jem^s unlucky speech. 

^ Do you think I should allow my selfish considerations to 
stand in your way, Olga? I wonder what Jem would say if 
I deprived you of such a treat; all the same,^ relenting visi- 
bly, ‘ 1 shall miss you dreadfully, and so will the poor chil- 
dren. . 1 think you have spoilt us by being so good to us.^ 

Could I believe my. ears ? 

* Do you really mean that you will miss me, Kitty ? that 
sounds almost too nice to be true.^ 

^ Have I been such an unkind sister that you do not be- 
lieve in my affection ? I did not think you would h^ve mis- 
understood a few sharp speeches/ and here there were aetu- 


AUNT CATHERINE. 


29 


ally tears in her eyes. have always been fond of yon, Olga 
— always; you have such nice ways with the children, and 
you never seem to think anything a trouble. Of course it is 
very dull for you here— Hubert says so sometimes. You are 
clever, and I am not a companion for you; but I want to do 
my best for you, and so does Huberts and he is gpodness it- 
self, although he is not Jem.^ 

Now what could I do but kiss her and tell her that she was 
a dear little soul, and that of course I was as fond of her rs 
possible ? and so I was, though she never gave me any real 
comfort. Very sensitive people always remind me of a hedge- 
hog : there is no going near them without pricking one^s self 
against their bristles. 

MVhat has become of Hugh?^ I exclaimed, after Ave had 
gone through this little scene of reconciliation. I always 
thought Kitty loved scenes. 

‘ He is learning his imposition in the school-room. He did 
his lessons very badly tliis afternoon, and so Hubert kept 
him in.’ 

I sighed; poor little Hugh was so often kept in— he had 
inherited his father’s slowness. Hubert had been stupid as 
a child. I wonder why the parents did not remember this; 
kind as they were to all their children, they were disposed to 
be hard on Hugh. He was my favorite. Wilfred was a dear 
little fellow, and the twins, Jessie and Mab, were bright, 
pretty little girls, but none of them came up to Hugh in my 
estimation. He was such an unselfish, tender-hearted boy, 
BO devoted to his parents and to his brother and sisters. I 
have known him go without things— his share of fruit or 
sweets — that the twins might have more; perhaps he was not 
clever, but he was the most perfect little, gentleman — no one 
ever heard him say a rough word; all the pupils were fond 
of him, because he was always ready to do them a service; in 
his childish way, for he was only nine, Hugh had a passion 
for service. 

Poor Hugh shed many tears over his own stupidity. He 
could not learn as quickly as other boys of his age, and I used 
to fancy that Hubert was a little exacting; his boy’s lack of 
brains seemed a reproach to himself. I used to speak to 
Kitty sometimes on the subject, but I never could get her to 
see Avith my eyes. In the first place, she A\’’ould have to blame 
Hubert, a piece of presumption that never entered her head; 
a id in the second place, she would have to take her son’s part 
against his father — on equally impossible proceeding; so she 
oiiATif>ed me Avith the same speech; Hubert knows 


30 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 


best; it is not for me to interfere with my husband/ For 
Kitty always got the best of an argument: when every means 
failed, she rolled herself round in certain stereotyped femi- 
nine aphorisms; much as the hedgehog afore-mentioned 
transforms himself into a dust-colored, spiky ball; and ^ Hubert 
knows best ^ clinched the most obstinate discussion. 


CHAPTER IV. 

AK EVENING AT FIRCROFT. 

‘I do believe that there ought to be more interest in humanity, 
and more power of throwing one’s self into the mind of every one, so 
that no visit should appear dull.’ — Rev. Frederick Robertson. 

Just at this moment Hubert threw up his racket with a -de- 
spairing groan, but Jem promptly and figuratively patted 
him on the back. 

^ Cheer up, 0I4 man; ^ on will do better next time. You 
did not play so badly last set/ 

‘ It is no use playing against this fellow,^ observed Hubert' 
ruefully; ^he has beaten me hollow, as usual. Never mind* 
I will have my revenge yet.^ 

^All righV returned Jem cheerfully, as he threw himself 
down on the grass by my side, looking quite cool and fresh 
in comparison with Huberts flushed face. ‘ Well, what have 
you two young women been talking about all this time ? ^ 

^ I was just going to ask the same question,^ put in Hubert, 
who had taken possession of the sole remaining chair. 

Now we were both of us longing to tell the same story. I 
— because it was my own peculiar and legitimate piece of 
property — ^being both eye and ear witness of the wiiole affair; 
and Kitty— because she always liked to monopolize Hubert’s 
attention — and to be the channel through which he should 
receive all interesting communications. Knowing this pecu- 
liarity of Kitty, and being bent on being the spokeswoman 
on the present occasion, I commenced at racing speed; not 
withstanding which, Kitty’s interpolations tripped me up 
every minute much as follows : 

^ Oh, Hubert, I have such a delightful piece of news to tell 
you ! Do listen, J em, and don’t tear my new print gown with 
your clumsy foot/> 


AlSf EVEmJSfG AT FTRCROFT, 


81 

^ Yes, indeed, I call it a piece of good fortune, Hubert/ 
from Kitty. 

/Aunt Catherine is going to St. Croix on business — ^ 

^ Most important business,’ corrected Kitty. 

^And she has asked me to accompany her.’ 

^And Olga will not have a farthing of expense. Think of 
that, dear!’ 

^ Som^ friends of theirs, the Milners, have let their house 
to Aunt Catherine for three months.’ 

‘ But we could not spare Olga all that time, could we ? 
and, indeed. Miss Sefton would not require her nearly so, 
long,’ from the irrepressible Kitty. 

But I frowned her down, and went on : 

^ St. Croix is a lovely place, about two miles from the town 
of St. Genette, and the house is delightfully situated; but 
Aunt Catherine would not describe it to me. And there -are 
several nice English families, only Aunt Catherine says she 
will have no time for visiting, and she has particularly de- 
sired the Milners not to ask their friends to call.’ 

am afraid that will be a little dull for Olga; she does so 
love society.’ 

^Aunt Catherine purposes to start early next month, and I 
am to get my things ready ; and she hopes, Hubert ’ 

^ Of course you can have no objection, dear ? Olga is her 
own mistress, and it will be such a nice change for her.’ 

‘ Dear me, Kitty, I think you had better finish yourself, 
for Hubert is staring at us both as though he were utterly 
bewildered,’ which was the fact — ^he was looking at us blankly 
through his spectacles; his slow comprehension had evidently 
not groped its way to a full understanding. 

le at a time- he .said 

look! He once observed,.' 
rather profanely, in my hearing, that he wondered Hubert 
had been ordained at the usual age, as he must have been 
twice as long as other men in making up his mind about the 
Articles of the Christian Faith, ^ though I will say this for 
him,’ finished the irreverent boy, ‘ that when he had- once set- 
tled what to believe, he would stick to it for the rest of his 
life.’ 

‘Poor old dufier!’ Jem’s look said so plainly that I burst 
out laughing, and Kitty looked a little offended. I knew by 
the way she bridled her neck and elevated her little white 
chin, that no amount of pressure would induce her to say an- 
other word on the subject; so, as Jem afterward remarked. 


• i tniuK II you were to laiK oi 
And then Jem gave me such a 


S2 THE BE ARCH FOR PiSTL LYHDHURBT,\ 

I had my innings, and could put the whple matter plainly 
before Hubert. He was veyy much pleased when he fully 
understood it all, and exprejssed himself as being very grate- 
ful 4o Aunt Catherine for her kindness to me. 

^ She is a good creature/ he observed feelingly, ^ and I an\ 
very much obliged to her.^ 

^ She is a darling! ' ejaculated Jem, under his breath/ 

^ I think we ought to call at the Hall and thank her, Kitty> 
Will you go with me to-morrow afternoon, my dear, and then! 
we can inquire after Mrs* Lyndhurst 

‘ I think you had better go alone, Hubert/ returned Kitty,’ 
with a touch of her old plaintiveness. ‘ I am afraid I am 
out of favor at the Hall, for they never ask me now. he 
only one they want is Olga^ — they make that very evident.’ 

^ Stuff — nonsense 1 ’ broke from Jem’s lips. He was never 
tolerant of Kitty’s morbid fancies. ^ You are a pretty sort of 
clergyman’s wife, Kitty, to let your husband pay all his pas- 
toral visits alone. I thought a clergyman advocated charity, 
and all that- sort of thing, and here you are harassing the 
curate-in-charge with doubts about his parishioners. I will 
wager my best hat that Miss Sefton, and Mrs. Lyndhurst, too, 
will be delighted to see you to-morrow. If I were you, Hu- 
bert, I would make her go. What is the good of being a hus- 
band if one can’t order one’s wife about ? ’ 

Strange to say, Kitty did not take umbrage at this plairj 
speech, though Hubert looked alarmed at Jem’s audacity. 

^ Of course I shall go if Hubert wishes it,’ was all she said ; 
and Hubert looked as delighted as though she had paid him 
the choicest compliment. It was such a pity. Hubert had so 
little tact. iJe did not in the least understand how to man- 
age Kitty. In spite of her little tempers and tiresome ways, 
she was a good little creature at the bottom. Jem would 
have made her a much better husband; he would have tyran- 
nized .over her in a good-njatured way, and rooted out all her 
fancies, and dominated her for her own good, and there would 
have been an end of all these wearv discussions and misunj- 
derstandings. . 

The gong sounded as we reached this point in our conversa-' 
tion, and we could hear the young men racing dowr^ the 
passages on their way to their rooms. 

‘We must go and change, Jem/ and Hubert started up, 
and Kitty and I followed them mofe leisurely. 

But I had not forgotten poor little Hugh, and I hurried 
up to the schoolroom to see how he was getting on with his 
imposition. Contrary to my expectations. I heard voices, and 


Anr BVFJsrma at fircroft. 


83 


on opening the door I was surprised to see Harry Vivian 
sitting on the schoolroom table with Hugh’s slate in his hand, 
and Hugh standing beside him with a radiant face. 

^Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Vivian; I quite understand 
it now.’ 

^All right, little ’un; now go and show it to your governor.’ 

And then he caught sight of me, and jumped up with a 
boyish blush on his face, as though he had been discovered 
in some wrong-doing. 

^Have you been helping Hugh, Mr.* Vivian ? That is very 
good of you.’ 

^Yes; isn’t he awfully kind, auntie? He has been here 
ever so long showing me how to do my lesson.’ 

^ Well, it. was hard lines on him, poor little chap, being 
mewed up on such a lovely evening. How, do as I tell you, 
Hugh : go and show your imposition to Mr. Leigh, and then 
run out in the garden.’ 

And Hugh, with a grateful look at his friend, tucked his 
books under his arm, and ran downstairs to his father’s 
dressing-room. 

^ I wish Mr. Leigh were not quite so strict with the little 
fellow,’ observed Mr. Vivian, as soon as he found himself 
alone with me. ^ I beg your pardon if I am saying too much, 
but I always think both he and Mrs. Leigh are rather hard 
on the boy; they don’t give him credit for his good inten- 
tions. He does his work to the best of his ability, and we are 
not all blessed with the same amount of brains.’ 

‘ I agree with you,’ I assented warmly; ^ thank you so much 
for helping the poor child. I am quite as grateful to you as 
he is.’ 

^Honsense; I liked doing it, don’t you know. I have not 
forgotten how a boy feels under these circumstances. Must 
you go. Miss Leigh ? What have you been doing all the after- 
noon — taking a walk with Rollo ? ’ 

*1 am going to leave Rollo in a week or two; will you be 
very good to him in my absence ? ’ and I gave Mr. Vivian a 
hasty sketch of my plans. His face fell at once. 

^ You are going away. Miss Leigh, and we do not break up 
until the second of August — nearly a v/hole month without 
you ; what will Rollo and I do ? ’ 

^You will do excellently well,’ was my unfeeling reply. 
^ Rollo will miss me, of course — dear old fellow — because he 
is my constant companion ; but, now I come to f hink of it, 
why should I not dake him with me ? Miss Sefton will not 
mind. Yes, Rollo shall go too; he shall take his first sea- 
3 


34 


THE SEARCH FOR RASIL LYHDHURST 


voyage, and see foreign life with his mistress. Oh, how de- 
lightful ! ^ and I clapped my hands in pure girlish glee. 

^ You care more about that dog than you do for the whole 
of us put together,^ returned Mr. Vivian reproachfully. ^ You 
are ''so different to other girls; one cannot make the least im- 
pression on you.’ * ^ 

‘Au revoir, monsieur,’ I replied lightly, making him a pro- 
found curtsey, and the next minute I was in the passage. 

We all liked Harry Vivian, he v/as such a nice, gentlemanly 
boy — young man, I suppose I ought to say, for he was twenty. 
He had been in bad health for some years, and this had re- 
tarded his education; but since his recovery he had made up 
for lost time, and was now working to some purpose. Hubert 
was in hope that he would be ready for his matriculation in 
a few months. He and Jem were great friends; they had the 
same tastes and opinions. I liked him immensely ; indeed, 
I preferred him to the other two pupils. Mr. Campbell was 
handsome, but he was decidedly stupid ; and Mr. Cunningham 
was unpleasantly rich, and thought too much of himself in 
consequence; but Harry — I called him Harry to Jem — was 
always nice and good-natured and ready to do kind things, 
and if only he would not try to make pretty speeches ; but 
that was so like a boy, and I suppose he could not . help his 
nature — only it sometimes gave me a good deal of trouble to 
keep him in proper order. I could not help laughing, as I 
dressed myself, at the remembrance of his long face. ^ Nearly 
a whole month without you! ’ Poor boy! I am the only girl 
about, so he thinks he is obliged to fall in love with me. 
How Jem would chaff him if he knew; but he is too nice a 
boy, and I will kfeep his little secret for him. Why, Kitty 
had half a dozen lovers before she was eighteen, and I am a 
whole year older, and, with the exception of Harry Vivian, 
no one has ever paid me a single compliment ; but ^ when a 
person has too long an under lip and a nose that is everything 
a nose ought not to be,’ recalling Jem’s severe criticism, ^that 
fact need excite no special wonder;’ and in this philosophic 
frame of mind I finished my toilet. 

The* dinner-hour at Fircroft was always the most wearisome 
to me m the twenty-four. Hubert’s bland conversation, some- 
what tinged with pomposity, seemed to cast a dead-weight 
over everything. 11 is twofold character of pastor and master 
invested him with added dignity; and with Kitty in her 
pretty evening dress at the other end of the table, drinking 
in his words cf wisdom as though ho were Solon and Solomon 
combined, no wonder he seemed to expand with mingled ini- 


AN EVEMINQ AT FIUCROFT, 


35 


portance and benevolence. I always sat between Hubert andi 
Mr. Cunningham — a position I hated. If Huberts rounded 
sentences were not to my taste, Mr. Cunningham^s remarks 
were even less so. I never knew a young man so entirely 
satisfied with himself. He ought to have married Miss Kil- 
manseg v/ith her golden for every word related directly 
or indirectly to what regenerate souls term filthy lucre. Ego- 
tism eked out with a stammer and an eye-glass had httle at- 
traction for me^ 

^ Have you heard from home lately, Mr. Cunningham ? ^ I 
would remark, with an attempt to be gracious. 

* Yes — my — my — father wrote. He — he — has had a stroke 
of luck — inade a pot of m-m-money lately;^ and thereupon 
would follow some stuttering account of speculations or in- 
vestments which I did not pretend to understand, or anec- 
dotes of ^ my hunter, my dogs, my people.^ 

I never knew any one so fond of the possessive pronoun. , 
When Jem was at home things were far better. He always 
sat opposite to me, and when Hubert was unusually prosy we 
would telegraph our amusement to each other, or Jem would 
strike into the conversation; he was the only one who dared 
to contradict the master of the house. 

^ Come, come, we have had enough of these Greek fellows,^ 
he would say; Hhey were precious ruffians, I can tell you. 
It is too bad to talk shop and hinder our digestion. Did you 
^ee Eoberts, of Merton, has distinguished himself ? He was 
always a plucky one.^ Actually the audacious boy would 
change the conversation after this fashion. Or he and Harry 
Vivian, who always followed his lead, would begin a sparring 
match; witticism would follow witticism. It was droll to seo 
how Hubert looked through his spectacles trying to under-, 
stand them. 

^ What do you two fellows mean ?' he would ask helplessly. 

wish you would talk senSe, Jem/ 

‘ Only clever people can talk nonsense,^ Jem retorted once.^ 
^If you would only try your hand at it for half an hour, Hu- 
bert, it would do you a world of good.^ 

. ^You have forgotten, then, the great Roman warning:, 
^^Hescit vox missa reverti'^^ — that means, Olga,^ with explana- 
tory courtesy, ^ that a word once uttered is irrevocable.^ 

Jem shook his head sorrowfully. 

'You are crushing butterflies with a garden-roller. Can^t 
you find a lighter implement to brush the powder off our , 
gauzy wings? Vivian looks quite depressed; he is choking! 


36 


THE BE ARCH FOR BABIL LYHDHURBT. 


with conscious guilt. Nescit vox missa reverti.^^ My poor 
Harry ! what is to become of all thy breezy jokes ? ^ 

^Keally, Jem/ and Hubert drew himself up. in an offended 
manner, ‘there are limits to everything — even to jesting;^ 
for his feelings were hurt on perceiving his quotation had 
failed to make its mark. But Jem contrived to sootho him. 
The l)rothers were really attached to each other; but Jem 
could not always forbear a joke at Huber t^s expense. I am 
afraid he and Harry delighted in getting a/ rise ^ out of him, 
ts they called it; and really, to watch his puzzled expression 
over one of Jem^s ridiculous jokes, was enough to make one 
die with laughing. Ho, the dinner-hour was never .dull when 
Jem was at Fircroft. 

It was our habit — Jem^s and mine, I mean — to* escape the 
tedium of the drawing-room circle as often as we could, and 
retire to the garden, where Harry would join us. 

Hubert and Mr. Campbell generally played chess — a game 
of which they were both passionately fond ; but Hubert, who 
was a strict disciplinarian even in trifles, had laid down the 
law that music was a necessary part of every evening’s enter- 
tainment. Mr. Cunningham played the flute atrociously, and 
Harry had lately taken lessons on the violin; so Kitty or I 
were in requisition as accompanists to these misguided young 
men. To add to our misery, Mr. Campbell had recently dis- 
covered he had a fine bass voice. The adjective ‘fine’ was 
dubious; but, alas! the voice was undeniable, and the game 
of chess was often curtailed in order that Mr. Campbell’s 
sonorous notes might be heard and admired. 

!N’ow,^a musical evening made to order, and v/ith indifferent 
musicians, has always been my abomination of abominations; 
and yet I protest, by the shades of Beethoven and Handel, 
that I am a devput lover of music; but a cut-and-dried routine 
of badly-executed pieces, wherein the same faults recur every 
evening, was enough to sicken any one. Kitty was far more 
patient under the ordeal. 

^ That’s right, Kitty, my dear; you and Cunningham played 
that last piece very well. Bravo, Cunningham! that does you 
credit, really;’ and Hubert, who had not the least ear for 
music, and whose nervous system was proof against any 
amount of diabolic squeaks and quavers, though even Eollo 
protested against them in his doggish way, v/ould beam on 
the complacent youth who had just distinguished himself. 

^ I make a point of encouraging my pupils’ musical tastes,’ 
I heard Hubert once say to an anxious parent. * Nothing 
harmonizes young men more, or better disposes them to do- 


AN EVENIITQ- AT FIRCROFT:! 


37 


mesticity. My wife and sister are accomjglished pianists^ 
(oh, Hub'^irt, what a fib! though certainly Kitty had a pretty 
touch), ^and our evenings are delightful. We have the flute, 
the violin — quite an orchestra.-^ 

Who ever heard a flute in an orchestra, you silly fellow ? 

I was bent on making my escape this evening, so I whis- 
pered to J em as he opened the door for us after dinner : 

^Get rid of Harry; I want you all to myself;^ and he 
nodded in his quick way. 

Jem always understood me in a moment, I found him 
waiting for me in the hall a minute later. 

^Don^t go in the garden^ Olga,’ he said; ^Campbell and 
Vivian are smoking their cigarettes out there. Let" us take a 
turn in the Elm Avenue instead; no one will find us there; ^ 
and of course I consented to his proposition. 

We had so much to talk about that I am sure 'vve walked 
miles before we had half exhausted the subject. Jem was 
full of my projected journey to SL Croix — he always tcok an 
interest in my smallest concerns — and he wanted me to tell 
him everything Aunt Catherine had said. 

I was so full of my recital, and J em was so nice and sym- 
pathetic, that I took no notice of where we were going; but 
all of a sudden I woke to full consciciisness. The elms, with 
the slumbering rooks, were no lon£8r over our heads; we 
v/ere walking down a side-path in the Italian garden, and just 
before us was the Lady^s Walk, looking more sombre and 
mysterious than ever in the moonlight. 

‘ Jem,^ I remonstrated, ^ why* have yon brought me here ? 
You knov/ nothing on earth will induce me to eiiter the Lady 
Gwendoline’s Walk.^ 

^ What nonsense, Olga! Do you meon you are afraid to go 
there with me And Jem’s voice hsd a touch of scorn that 
nettled me in spite of my nervousuesr*. 

^ I would rather not. Don’t be tliesome. Every one has 
his or her special fancy. I cannot bear that ghostly terrace. 

I always imagine Oh, Jem — Jem! v/hat is that ?’ And 

I pinched his arm in my agitation, for, a^ though my nervous- 
ness had found its actual embodiment, a white figure glided 
from behind the dark trees. Was it Lady Gwendoline waiting 
for her Puritan lover, Ealph of the Iron-Heart ? ^ Oh, Jem ! ’ 

^Hush, Olga! don’t be a fool.’ Jem was just a little rough 
with me because my paleness alarmed him. ^ What a goose 
you are ! don’t you see it is Mrs. Lyndhurst ? ’ 

Mrs. Lyndhurst ! I recovered in a moment. Of course it 
was she^ only she looked so strange and unlike herself. Her 


88 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYimHURST 


black gown was hidden under a loose white burnous, and she 
had drawn its hood over her gray hair, so that sho really 
looked ghost-like in the moonlight. The next minute I 
begged Jem in a whisper lo come away. 

‘Bo come, dear! She will be go vexed if she thinks cho h 
watched. Aunt Catherine has told mo so. She often takes 
solitary walks, and nothing annoys her more than for any one 
to follow and speak to her. You know she is odd in her 
ways. She is coming toward us now; what shall v/e do 
But Jem, with ready presence oi mind, drew me behind a 
great flowering shrub, that completely hid us, though wo 
could just see through the branches. 

How I wished we were safe in our own Surprise! It was 
CO uncanny to be hiding there in the moonlight. Mrs. Lynd- 
hurst was coming toward us with a soft, gliding motion that 
conveyed no sound ; her pale face was paler than ever, and 
there was a fixed look upon it, as though some sad thought 
dominated her. Just as she was opposite to us — opposite our 
hiding-place, I mean — she suddenly stopped and wrung her 
hands, as though with involuntary pain. 

‘ Oh, my sin ! ^ we heard her say — ‘ will it never be condoned 
in this world ? Will there never be an end of all this sus- 
pense and misery? Only God knows !^ 

And then she turned away, and we heard such a- heart- 
broken sigh. 

‘Now. we can go,^ whispered Jem eagerly; ‘quick, Olga, 
before she turns.^ And„ holding my arm tightly we ran 
lightly down the garden-paths and gained the avenue; but v/e 
neither of us spoke until the Hall was out of sight. 

‘Oh, Jem! what does it mean 

‘ That is not for us to inquire,^ was the unexpected response. 
‘ Poor woman, I always guessed that her life had an unhappy^ 
secret in it. I never saw sorrow more legibly written on any 
hupian countenance.^ 

‘ I knew her husband was a bad man.^ 

‘Yes, we all know as much as that; but, Olga, we musij 
forget what has just passed. We must not even let our 
thoughts dwell on it. Mrs. Lyndhurst imagined that she 
was alone — you must remember that.^ 

‘But I can never forget her words, Jem.^ 

‘Perhaps not; but I do not mean to think about them. If 
I can, I will wipe them out of my memory. They shall be to 
me as though they had not been spoken.^ 

I knew Jem had a keen sense of honor, but I never felt 
before how much he was above me in that respect, I am 


SHALL YOU LET ME GO, MOTHER P 


89 


afraid women are often faulty in this respect. I do not 
mean by this that they wc ild listen at doors, or voluntarily 
intrude into other folks’ conversation, hut they are often 
wanting in the finer points of honor. I do not fancy a man, 
for example, would criticise his visitor as soon as the outer 
door closed on him, and yet I heard ladies discuss their 
friends in the most heartless way, and indulge in innuendoes 
•at their expense. 

^ Poor dear woman! Yes, we will forget all about it, Olga,^ 
repeated Jem decisively, as we reached Pircroft. 

But though I tried hard to follow this advice, I found it 
impossible. All that night, waking or dreaming, the words 
Seemed to haunt me : ^ Oh, my sin 1 will it never be condoned 
in this world? IVill there never be an end of this suspense 
and misery ? ’ and ^ only God knows! ’ seemed to echo and re- 
echo through my brain. 


CHAPTEE V. 

^ SHALL YOU LET ME GO, MOTHER?^ 

• In no relation does woman exercise so deep an influence, both 
immediately and prospectively, as in that of mother.’— C arter. 

Fuman nature is exceeding complex; it is many-sided and 
Proteus-like in its shifting transformations, ’i here is some- 
thing mysterious, almost baffling, in seeing any one we know 
intimately under an entirely new aspect — the sudden meta-' 
morphosis startles and alarms our inner consciousness in 
much the same way that a flash of lightning dazzles our out- 
ward vision. The arrowy brightness of electricity illuminates 
the darkness, bringing sombre depths and unknown objects 
into strange significance; but before we can grasp the mean- 
ing of the spectacle the weird effect is swallowed up in the 
blackness of vacancy. 

In the same way human nature suddenly reveals itself; in 
a moment some unseen force or agency, some combination of 
circumstances at once grotesque and terrible, asserts its power; 
with a shock, an upheaval as of an earthquake, our foregone ' 
conclusions tumble about our ears, our preconceived opinions 
are thwarted — strangled. Nothing is the same, there is con- 
fusion^ chaos, the old order changes ; then the turmoil sub- 


40 


TEE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYEDHURST. 


sides — there is quiet, a cessation of strife; but to us the calm- 
ness is ominous— what has been may be again! 

It was in this way that I thought of Mrs. Lyndhurst the 
n^xt morning on waking; my girlish faith had sustained a 
shock. Jem would have scoffed at the idea of a few wild 
words altering my estimation of a person, but I could not 
take thenC lightly ; to me they were pregnant with mysterious 
meaning — they. hinted at something chaotic, terrible. If only- 
I could have talked it over comfortably with Jem; if he could 
have reasoned my doubts away — but no, there was his *sense 
of honor warning me off forbidden ground. On certain 
points Jem was inexorable. I knew him too well ever to 
hope that his reserve would yield to curiosity; it was no 
affair of his or mine; we had been innocent eavesdroppers, 
that 'was all, Jem would have cried shame on me for letting 
my truant imaginations play about a neighbor’s secret ^ Have 
you no sense of honor ? ^ he would have said, with crushing 
sternness, if I had* weakly applied to him for a solution. 
There was no comfort to be got out of Jem on these sort of 
emergencies. If only I could follow his creditable example, 
and wipe out the memory of those words; but to me it was 
impossible. All the world knew that Mrs. Lyndhurst was an 
unsatisfied, unhappy woman, but that she had sinned — no, 
impossible. It was that word ^ sin ’ that haunted me, and the 
despairing tone in which it had been uttered. 

I felt I could not go up to the Hall; my looks would have 
betrayed my inward uneasiness. I was a bad actor; Jem 
always told me so. I should have felt like a culprit before 
Mrs. Lyndhurst, and should have stammered over the sim^ 
plest sentence; and in spite of her gentleness Mrs. Lyndhurst 
was very clear-eyed and observant. She was by no means 
indifferent to people^s good opinion; she liked to stand well 
with her friends; any want of respect or consideration would 
have hu? her grievously. 

* I suppose I had better not go to the Hall this afternoon,^ 

I said rather tentatively to Jem, when I encountered him in 
the garden; but Jem refused to see the feeble bait I flung 
out to him. 

^ I suppose not, as Hubert and Kitty are going,^ he replied 
drily; ‘ there is no need for the whole family to show up, is 
there ? * and he went off without another word, the tiresome 
boy. Of course, he saw from my face that I was dying to 
talk to him, but I might as well have attracted a whale with 
a gaudy fly ! such is masculine human nature and the man- 


* SHALL YOU LET ME GO, MOTHER 


41 


ners of brothers, that I believe Jem thoroughly enjoyed dis- 
appointing mo. 

But my morbid curiosity was not to be repressed, and on 
Kitty^s return I followed her upstairs on some pretence or 
other. Kitty was not averse to my company, and she chatted 
comfortably about her visit, as she smoothed out the fingers 
of her gloves so skilfully that they looked like new. It was 
a sort of education to watch Kitty at her toilet; she had won- 
derfully methodical little ways. She had lost her parents 
when she was a child, and had been brought up by her grand- 
mother; all Kite’s prim habits had been inculcated by her 
aged relative, Kitty^s room, her drawers, . ere models of 
tidiness; she often volunteered to turn out my drawers and 
boxes, and reduce their chaotic consents to the same state of 
elaborate neatness — her lectures to me on this point were 
highly edi^ng and amusing. 

^ Well, it is a shame for girls to be untidy,^ Jem once said 
when I retailed part of Kitty^s lecture, giving it a humorous 
meaning. ^ Kitty is quite right, and you ougiit to turn over 
a new leaf. A pretty sort of wife you will make, Olga ! I 
quite pity the poor fellow who ever aspires to be my brother- 
in-law,^ which was rude of Jem, and a cowardly going over to 
the enemy. 

^Did you see the ladies, Kitty?’ for, in common with the 
whole of the village, we always called them ‘ the ladies.’ 

^Yes; and Miss Sefton insisted on our remaining to tea. 
They were nicer than usual, very kind and friendly, only 
Mrs. Lyndhurst looked dreadfully ill. I never saw her face 
so pinched and white. Hubert noticed it; he spoke to me 
directly we left the Hall. How wretched Mrs. Lyndhurst 
looks!’’ thai; was what he said.’ 

^ You and Hubert generally think alike, do you not ? ’ But 
taere was no sarcastic meaning in my question. 

Kitty took it seriously, as usual. 

^ When I first married I thought husbands and wives were 
bound to think alike,’ she said quietly, as she tried to smooth 
her dark, curly hair. Kitty’s hair would ripple info soft 
little curls and waves above her forehead, though she vainly 
tried to repress them; but sue might as well have tried to 
straighten Girlie-gar’s curly crop. was so young, you 
know, Olga, and so dreadfully inexperienced. Why, I was 
only twenty when dear little Cecil died, for Kitty had lost 
her first baby, and it had been a great sorrow to her. ^ I re- 
member !-oW hard I tried to agree with everything Hubert 


42 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYIWHURST, 


said ; but it was no use, one must have one’s own opinions, so 
I gave it up.’ 

^ I am glad you were so sensible.’ 

did not become so for a long time,’ with a faint sigh; 
^ girls are dreadfully silly. Hubert cured me at last, but I am 
not going to tell you hov/; you will find it out for yourself 
some day, when you are married. I think I like disagreeing 
with Hubert now and then, because he takes so much trouble 
to bring me roun'd to his opinion, and there is the pleasure 
of giving in at the end.’ 

^And it would be too matter-of-fact to think alike on every 
point ? ’ 

^ Of course ’ — with a knowing nod — ^ too humdrum alto- 
gether; I am afraid’ — penitenHy — ‘I often give Hubert a 
great deal of trouble with my little tempers ; hut he is so dear 
and patient that it makes me love him all the better.’ 

I pondered over this wifely speech, which Kitty made with 
a good deal of feeling; then I shook my head. 

^ If I had a husband,’ I remarked, ^ 1 should wish to be per- 
fect in his eyes. I should not allow him to see my faults 
more than I could help.’ 

^ That sounds rather fatiguing, Olga, as though one were to 
be in permanent full-dress. One could not keep that up, 
you know; there would be a break-down soon.’ 

^ Ho you think so ? ’ doubtfully. 

1 am sure of it. Why, my dear, two people cannot live 
together without a good deal of friction, without rubbing 
against each other’s angles. Men are so dreadfully tiresome, 
you see; they are obtuse, and do not notice little things, and 
that aggravates a woman. They want you to think them 
perfect; and if you point out a defect, well, they are as hurt 
as possible, and yet they will lecture you for half an hour at 
a time, and tell you not to do this and how to do that; and 
they expect you to listen with a smile on your face, and if 
you turn the least bit cross they are in a moment, and 
think you unreasonable and ill-tempered.’ 

^ I am sure Hubert is not one of those men.’ 

^ How do you knov/ ? ’ turning on me quite sharply; ^ he 
has his little faults like other people; he can be dense, too, 
and misunderstand one. Kot that I have not often given 
him a bit to bear,’ with another sigh, ^and of course it was 
oftener my fault than his. I know that as well as you do, 
Olga; for I quite understand what your hint implies, and 
what you and Jem think— that I have never been good enough 
for Hubert.’ 


'^BHALL YOU LET ME 00, MOTHER V 


43 


Oh, good gracious! I was in for it now; but fortunately 
Kitty only grazed the dangerous points and went off at a 
tangent. 

dare say you are both of you right, and I am an uncom- 
fortable sort of person to live with; but I cannot help my 
nature, and Hubert seems happy enough. Well, we won^t 
talk about that any more, though I do wish I Were different, 
for all your sakes.^ 

^ My dear Kitty, I don^t believe Hubert wants you to be 
different; he is far too fond of you.^ 

She broke into a little smile at this. 

, ^ Hubert is my husband, so of course he is good to me ; but, 
Olga,^ looking at. me wistfully, ‘1 wish you and Jem under- 
stood me better. You don’t know,’ her voice trembling, 
^ how hard it is never to feel well, or as strong as other people. 
It makes me fanciful. 1 remember when I never ailed any- 
thing — when life was just beautiful to me. I never thought^ 
then that I should ever come to feel as I do now.’ 

^Are you feeling worse than usual, Kitty ? ’ I asked, sonie- 
what troubled at this. 

‘No; lam neither better nor worse. It is the same every 
day. Hr. Langham says it is w^ant of vitality. I suppose he 
is right. I try not to trouble Hubert more than I can help. 
I do not like him to know how tired and good-for-nothing I 
am; he has enough on his mind without that.’ 

‘I ought to help you more,’ I began, feeling rather con- 
science-stricken; but Kitty would not allow me to go on. 

“ You do help me, Olga, and I would not willingly monop- 
olize your time. This is 3 ^our .season of pleasure,’ looking at 
me kindly; ‘I have had my time. Yes, indeed, I have much 
to be thankful for. Hubert is good to me, and I have the 
children. Perhaps if I were stronger I should enjoy my life 
more, but we are not sent into the world for our own enjoy- 
ment,’ finished Kitty, with vivid recollection of last Sunday’s 
sermon. 

We had v/andered far away from Mrs. Lyndhurst, and I 
dare not return to the subject, especially as Kitty seemed 
disposed to moralize; but all at once she changed the subject 
somewhat abruptly. 

^ We have settled about your trip, Olga. Miss Sefton wants 
you to get your things ready at once. I suppose you will re- 
quire a new dress ; your summer tweed is rather shabby.’ 

‘ I am not sure that I shall buy anything,’ rather dubiously. 

' I have spent my quarter’s allowance already.’ 

‘Y^hat a pityl’ Kitty had quite recovered herself now. 


44 THE BE ARCH FOR BABIL LYNBHURBTr 

'If only my things would fit you! Hubert made me get that 
gray gown and jacket, and I have not worn them more than 
three times; but you are too tall/ regarding me ruefully, for 
Kitty was one of the most generous of beings, and would 
have stripped^ herself of her pretty things willingly. ' So it 
is no good thinking about that; you must just ask Hubert 
for a cheque; tell him from me, if you like, that you must 
have a new tweed dress and jacket and a hat to match. Miss 
Sefton must not be disgraced by your shabbiness. He is in 
his study now. Why doii^t you go to him and get it over, 
and then we can buy the dress to-morrow ? ^ 

This was sensible advice, and after a minute^s hesitation I 
resolved to follow it. Perhaps Kitty saw the reluctance with 
which I made up my mind, for she patted me on the shoulder 
kindly and said : 

* You need not be afraid ; Hubert is sure^'to give you what 
you want; he is always generous.^ ' 

Perhaps it was my pride; but I did so hate to ask for 
money. So I marched into the study in rather a shamefaced 
way. To add to my embarrassment, Hubert was making up 
parish accounts, and looked up with rather an annoyed air at 
the interruption. 

'What do you want, my dear? This is Friday evening, 
and I am extremely busy — will not the business keep until 
another time ? ^ 

' Oh yes, of course, Hubert, only Kitty wanted me to come; 
It is about money; but I can wait very well until to-morrow.' 

'Ko, no; perhaps you had better tell me now/ he returned 
fussily; 'but Kitty might have remembered; it is rather in- 
considerate to interrupt me just now/ and then he leant back 
in his chair and took off his spectacles and regarded me in a 
reproachful way as I stammered out my request. He was 
still shaking his head over Kitty’s want of consideration as ha 
wrote out the cheque and handed it to me. 'Another timo 
please do not choose Friday evening/ he said with mild in- 
sistence. 

I had gained my point ; but, in spite of his rebuke, I lin- 
gered a moment to ask after Hugh, who had been missing all 
the afternoon. 

' Do you .know where he is, Hubert ? ' I ventured. , 

Hubert’s fussiness vanished, and he put on at once his stern 
schoolmaster’s air at the mention of Hugh’s name. 

'He is in his own room. I sent him there a couple of 
hours ago. He had to do his sums over again. His work 
has been disgraceful this week — absolutely disgraceful! I 


^ SHALL YOU LET ME GfO, MOTHER V 


45 


am begiuning to think he needs competition. We seem at a 
dead-lock at present. He must go to school. Vivian thinks 
so too; only Kitty is so against it; but it has come to this — 
that I cannot teach him any longer.^ 

Hubert was walking about the room as he spoke. In men- 
tioning Hughes name I was touching on a very sore point. 
His boy’s slow perception was a bitter humiliation to him. 
His parental pride suffered a martyrdom. I felt for him; 
but, all the same, he was too hard on Hugh. 

^ Oh, Hubert,’ I exclaimed, ^ do try him a little longer. 
You have no idea how hard he really works; only lessons are 
not so easy to him as to other boys. I think it will break his 
heart to send him to school.’ 

^ He is breaking mine with his stupidity! ^ returned Hubert, 
so bitterly that I stood aghast to hear him. Hubert rarely 
spoke strongly about anything. can do nothing v/ith 
him. I talked to him yesterday for nearly half an hour about 
his bad preparation, and he promised to do better; and this 
morning his lessons were worse than ever, and his only, excuse 
was, one of his rabbits had died and put everything out of 
his head.’ 

I half smiled. Hugh was very babyish for his age, but I 
knew he was devoted to his pets; but Hubert’s sternness did 
not relax. 

^ He is my greatest trial. It is hard to be punished in one’s 
children. I thought I should have been so proud of Hugh — 
ho was such a bright little fellow once; but he must go to 
school — I have made up my mind on that point. Where is 

Kitty ? I want to talk to her. These accounts must keep ’ 

and Hubert stalked off, grim and melancholy, to find his 
wife. How I wished I had not mentioned Hugh ! Kow he 
would make Kitty miserable for the rest of the evening. 

I hesitated for a long time' before I ventured to go in search 
of the culprit. When Hubert was in one of these moods it 
was dangerous to go against him ; even Kitty did not dare to 
oppose him. Slow-natured men like Hubert let their wrath 
smoulder unperceived for a long time; but when they are 
once at white heat, they are not easily mollified. His very 
love added fuel to his anger. Hugh’s punishment was likely 
to be commensurate with his father’s disappointment. After 
a time I took courage and crept up to Hugh’s room. I could 
hear the click of spoons and cups in the schoolroom as I 
passed — the children were having tea. I wondered if nurse 
had remembered Hugh. The room felt hot and close as I 
entered it, and Hugh was stooping over his books in the hot- 


46 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURST 


test corner. He looked up at me piteously as I entered, and 
then put down his head on the table and sobbed. 

^ Oh, Aunt Olga, I cannot do my sums! My head is so hof, 
and the figures dance about so. I have been trying for hours, 

and they y/ill not come right, and father says Oh dear! 

oh dear ! what shall I do ? ^ and the poor little fellow cried as 
though his heart would break. 

^ Have you had your tea, Hugh 

^No— o; father said I was to stop here until I had finished 
my sums.^ ^ 

I glanced at the hopeless array of figures and at the dog’s- 
eared book, and then spoke with decision : 

Don’t cry. any more, Hugh; it is babyish. Boys ought 
not to cry. Go and v/ash your face; sponge it well, and brush 
your hair; and I will bring you some tea. Why don’t you 
open your window wide ? there, the room will be fresher so. 
How do as I tell you j and I will be back directly;’ and I 
nodded cheerfully and vanished. Hugh was a great favorite 
with nurse, so she willingly supplied me with all I wanted, 
and even cut an extra large slice of cake. 

Hugh had finished his ablutions when I returned; but ho 
could not call up a smile even^t the sight of the cake. Still, he 
was very glad of the refreshing cup of tea, and I coaxed him 
to eat by telling him an amusing story of adventure that I 
had just read. It was deliciously horrible — just what boys 
love, and the anxious puckers in^is face relaxed involuntarily 
as he listened. 

^ Vfhat a wonderful man he must have been. Aunt Olga ! 
I should like to be a traveller when I grow up. Father says 
I shall never make a clergyman, because I can’t do my Latin, 
and this morning he said I should not even do for a business 
man,’ and here his chest heaved ominously. ^ I know 1 did 
my lesson badly; but I had to bury poor little Cuddy — you 
know Cuddy, the white rabbit you liked so. He was such a 
pretty little fellow. . Something poisoned him, and I found 
him dead this morning, and Mr. Vivian made a coffin for 
him, and we had a funeral, and the old gray rabbit had 
a crape bow, and ’ but I sternly checked these reminis- 

cences, 

^ We will talk by-and-by, Hugh; but it is getting l^te, and 
I want to help you with those sums — at least, I will' explain 
the principle, and you must work them out yourself.’ 

Hugh nodded, and sat staring at me with his beautiful 
eyes, trying with all his might to understand my instruction", 
but it was .hard work, I could comprehend Hubert’s fit of 


^ /SHALL YOU LHT HE GO, MOTHER V 


47 


disgust and impatience. Hugh was dreadfully slow. We 
succeeded at last, but not before Hugh complained that his 
headache had returned; so I persuaded him to go to bed. 

'I will put the books in your father’s study/ I said; ^but 
there is no need for you to come downstairs. You have 
worried yourself into a fever. You see, the sums were not 
so difficult after all.’ 

^ You made it all so easy. You explain things so nicely, 
auntie. Oh, if I were only as clever as you and mother! I 
wonder what makes me so stupid ? Do you think I was born 
so? It is. not really naughtiness, as father thinks; it is not, 
really. Aunt Olga.’ 

I told him that I was sure of that, and he looked a little 
happier at this assurance, and just at this minute Kitty in- 
terrupted us. She Avas dressed' for dinner; but I could se® 
from her eyes that she had been crying, 

^ Hugh has done his sums,’ I observed hastily; • ‘ but his 
head aches, and I persuaded him to go to bed.’ 

‘ My head does really ache, mother,’ added Hugh anxiously. 

Kitty went up to him without a word and felt his forehead 
and hands; then she glanced at the empty tray; finally she 
sat down by his bed. Hugh, who adored his mother, threw 
his arms around her. 

^Are you going to stop v/ith me a little ?’ he said joyfully. 
^Aunt Olga has &en so kind. She showed me how to do my 
sums. I did try so hard, mother, only father will not believe 
it.’ 

^Are you sure you tried, Hugli ? ’ And then she continued 
sadly, ^ You are making your father and me very unhappy. 
!I don’t think father has ever been so angry Avith you before. 
'He says he cannot teach you any longer — that you must go 
to school.’ 

The boy’s arms fell away from her neck in a moment. He 
seemed to shrink into himself at this announcement. 

^ Oh, mother! ’ was all he said; but his tone touched Kitty’s 
motherly heart. She was very tender Avifch her children. 

‘Father has tried his very best,’ she said softly; ‘but he 
feels it is all no use — that a stranger Avill teach you better. 
He has been talking to me about it, and I can see he means 
Avhat he says! ’ 

‘ Shall you let me go, mother ? ’ in a reproachful voice. 

‘I must let you go,’ she replied quietly; ‘you are father’s 
’ boy as well as mine, and he knov/s Avhat is best for you. I 
' don’t want to part with you, my darling,’ as the boy lay 
shaking Avith sobs, and she stooped over and kissed him very 


48 


THE BE ARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURBT. 


lovingly; ^but I must help father to do his duty. He is not 
sending you av/ay because he does not love you; but because 
he knows it will be best for you to learn with other boys/ 

The gong sounded at this moment, and I was obliged, to 
go; but I left Hugh more comfortable. I knew Kitty would 
not leave him until she had drawn the sting from his pain. 
Her maternal instinct was very strong. She was always at 
her best with her children. 

When I had finished dressing I stole to the half-opened 
door and peeped in. Kitty was on her knees beside the bed. 
She seemed speaking very solemnly, though I could not heai* 
the words. When she had finished, Hugh said : 

^ Mother dear, won’t you say another prayer, asking that 1 
may be a clever boy ? I often do.’ 

^ I don’t think those sort of prayers help us, dear,’ she re- 
turned gently. ^ Perhaps it is God’s will that you are not as 
quick as other boys of your age. It may be your trial ; we 
all have our trials, Hugh. Only try to belie.ve that father 
loves you as much as he does Wilfred and the twins, and that 
we are only sending you away for your own good; and ask 
God to make you brave, and more willing to go — that is a 
much better prayer.’ 

^ Very well, mother. Now you must go down to dinner; I 
must not keep you any longer.’ 

^Good-night, then, my dearest boy I’ 

What put it into Kitty’s mind to say that ? Was he, after 
all, her dearest, although at. times she had seemed hard to 
him ? I could fancy the happy smile on Hugh’s face. The 
boy doted on his parents. If he could only bring himself to 
believe that he v/as as dear to them as their clever, sprightly 
"Wilfred, he would be a far happier boy. 

I drew back from the door as Kitty came out; but I could 
not help kissing her for being so nice to Hugh. There was a 
wonderfully gentle expression on her face as she smiled back 
at me; but she did not speak, neither did I. 


'THE LADY'S WALK.' 


49 


CHAPTER Vf^ 

'the lady’s walk/ 

•’Tis life whereof our nerves are scant ; 

More life and fuller that we want. 

No heart in which was healthful breath 

Has ever truly longed for death.’ 

Wordsworth. 

Hughes diildish griefs had banished the tragical recolleo 
tions of last night from my memory, but they revived with 
added intensity when, later in the evening, a note arrived 
from the Hall, Aunt Catherine was going to London on 
business the next morning, and would be away the whole day. 
Mrs. Lyndhurst was more unwell than usual, and — here the 
words were underlined — would I take my work and spend the 
afternoon with her, and so shorten the hours of her loneliness ? 

There could be only one response to this. I was accustomed 
to these friendly demands; it was quite a usual thing for me 
to sit with Mrs. Lyndhurst during her sister^a brief absences 
in town; nevertheless, for the first time I was unwilling to 
obey the summons. When I passed the note to Jem I looked 
at him meaningly and shrugged my shoulders, but his sole 
answer was a blank stare. This vexed mo/ and I said with 
some degree of pettishness : 

‘ These visits to town are endless just now; it is rather a 
bore leaving home so much during your last week — don’t vou 
think so ? ’ 

‘ If Aunt Catherine wants you, I don’t think we ougnt to 
consider ourselves,’ he replied in the most indifferent voice. 
That was the worst of Jem — he never would encourage what 
he called sentimentality; with all his affection for me — and 
I believe he felt far more than he expressed — he always 
damped anything like effusion ; lingering leavetakings, terms 
of endearment, or unnecessary caresses were abhorrent to hia 
somewhat stoical nature. 

Tnis little appeal that vaguely implied a necessity for his 
presence did not touch him in the least, and when I begged 
him rather urgently to keep himself free for tho following 
afternoon, that v/e might have a nice long walk together, he 
4 


W THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 

returned dryly that Vivian had already-^ booked, him fof Sk 
bicycle trip. 

^ This was too much for my pliilosophy;^ 

^ Oh, Jem, and we shall only have two whole days together 
after that ! ’ 

Jem put down his carving tools; he was^making a bracket 
for Kitty, and looked at me with profound anxiety, 

^ Do you feel ill, Olga ? This is the first I have heard about 
it, but ^ — with a glance at the timepiece — it is not so very 
late, scarcely half-past nine, so I can easily go down for Dr. 
Langham,^ 

^ What do you mean ? ^ I returned, utterly bewildered. 

Had Jem taken leave of his senses ? he was actually hold- 
ing my hand and fumbling at my pulse; but I wrenched it 
from him quite crossly. 

^ I thought you were going to die or do something equally 
disagreeaMe, as we had only two whole days before us; it 
made me feel quite bad for a moment ; ^ and the tiresome boy 
sighed heavily, and took up his tools again. And then what' 
did he do but paraphrase Mrs. Hemans^s exquisite little 
lament : Oh, call my sister back to me ! I cannot play alone; ^ 
but I would not listen to him. 

I am afraid I was decidedly cross with J em that night — as 
though he cared ! I heard him laughing as I left the room. 
I would not say good-night to him. Yes, I made up my mind 
that that would be a fitting punishment for his hard-hearted- 
ness axid want of feeling. I knew the resolution would cost 
me a good cry, for I was so fond of J em that I could not bear 
to be angry with him for a moment, and I very seldom was; 
but his manner was decidedly trying this evening; and he 
must be taught th^t a sister had feelings. As I was still in 
the same humor half an hour afterwards, I v/ent up to my 
room, taking no notice of Jem, who was still busy with his 
bracket ; but a short time afterward there was a great .flap 
against mv door. It was a sound I knew well, most likely 
Hollo wanted some water; but when I opened it there was 
Hollo wagging his huge tail v^ith an air of immense satisfac- 
tion, and holding a brown-paper parcel in his mouth, which 
he dropped at once at my feet. I eyed it gingerly. Could 
Harry have dared ? I was quite afraid to touch it; it was so 

unpleasant giving back presents, and yet if I kept it but 

I was too sensible to think of doing such a thing. I hesitated 
so long that Kollo v/hined and scratched at the parcel with 
his clumsy paw, as much as to say, ^Why don't you open it?^ 
8o* to keep him quiet, I untied the string. 


51 


^THE LADTS WALK:} 

But to my delight it was not from ' Harry all; it was 
actually from Jem. Oh, the dear fellow! it was his own 
handiwork, a pretty little carved box with a lock and key, 
that he had made to surprise me, most likely — his parting 
gift! It was quite- empty No, there was a folded paper in- 
side. I opened it eagerly — a copy of verses! . Oh, Jem, how 
delicious ! 

‘*Oh I call my brother back to me. 

But do not call too ioiid. 

Poor chap ! alas, I warrant thee 
He lies within his shroud ! ’ 

and so on. _ 

At this ihbment I heara a low whistle."^ Hollo heard it, toO^ 
for he pricked up his glossy ears and vanished. I followed 
and peeped over the banisters. Jem was coming lazily up- 
stairs with his candle, but he suddenly thought better of it,* 
and deliberately sat down on the staircase, while Hollo squat- 
ted on liis haunches beside him. In this position the most 
remarkable colloquy ensued. 

^ I say, Hollo, old fellow, what’s up with Olga ? ^ Tell us, 
there’s a good chappie.’ 

^ Don’t be vulgar, J em,’ in a hoarse voice ; cjiappie’s ” low, 
dear boy.’ 

^ Oh, shut up ! none of that.’ 

^ Well,’ still more hoarsely, ^mind your manners then; out 
I am sorry to tell you the missis is horribly cross.’ 

' ‘No, you don’t say so.’* _ 

‘In a regular "passion. “Hollo,” says she, “where’s that 
rude, unfeeling boy, Jem?” says she. “Talk of brothers, 
he’s a regular bad one,’ says she, “and I should like to box 
his ears; but as I shall only have a brother for two v/hole days 

” and here she fetches out her handkerchief and cries 

awful.’ 

‘Awfully, Hollo, awfullv!’ but here I<?ame upon Jem like 
a whirlwind ; and if, as he said afterwards, he had not had 
the presence of mind to blow out the candle, nobody would 
have known what might or what might not have happened, 
for he was in imminent danger of strangulation. 

But in spite of his struggles and Hollo’s wild barks of joy 
I managed to thank him my own way. 

He was quite limp and melancholy when I got him into 
my room at last, and looked at Hollo in a ver^- feeling manner. 

‘ What a pity our nice little Ute-h-Ute waa interrupted,’ he 
observed sadly; ‘my peculiar nature needs sympathy and 


52 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHVRST. 


plenty of it — " what I takes I takes strong,” as the charwoman 
observed when the cabman pressed her to take a glass of 
something ^ot — that’s the way the lower orders talk; ^^but, 
old chappie,” says she 

‘Now, Jem, I will not have it — not a word more; it is no 
use your pretending to be vulgar — of course I understand 
what your ridiculous remarks meant/ 

‘Indeed!^ and Jem looked at me stolidly — such an absence 
of expression I never saw in any human face. 

‘ Yes, you wanted me to understand that these little matters 
of detail do rot matter a bit; that I have got vou, and you 
have got me^ 

‘ Ob^serve how exquisitely worded,’ groaned the incorrigible 
Jem; ‘go ahead, Olga — ^you have got me and I have got you; 
all right, what comes next ? ’ 

‘This;’ and then I did actually box Jem’s ears, and he 
called out and Eollo barked furiously, and Hubert s voice was 
heard in the distance asking what on earth was the matter 
— were we going to wake the children ? And then Jem gave 
me a hasty kiss and fled. How I laughed when Eollo and I 
were left alone! Jem could be ridiculous when he liked, but 
all the same he meant to teach me a little lesson. 

Thi^ absurd scene had refreshed me, and I set off for the 
Hall the next day in much better spirits. I found Mrs. 
Lyndhurst in her private sitting-room, a small room on the 
first floor, with a window overlooking the Elm Avenue. It 
was not BO handsomely furnished as the library, which was 
Aunt Catherine’s special sanctum, but it was a pleasant room 
nevertheless ; the furniture was old-fashioned, and the walls 
v/ere covered with family portraits, but there was an air of 
coziness about it. Mrs. Lyndhurst was lying back in a low 
cushioned chair that she used as a lounge. As I entered she 
held out her hand to me with a beseeching look; it was a 
look that seemed to say a good deal — to claim, in a dumb sort 
of way, a large portion of forbearance and sympathy. I 
never knew eyes to express so much ; to-day they reminded 
me of some animal in pain; for the flrst time I felt confused 
as I met them. 

‘ You are very good to come so early, Olga,’ she ..aid, with- 
out noticing my embarrassment; ‘will you take off your hat ? 
I see you have brought your work ; that is nice. I have not 
been feeling myself for some days, so Catherine thought your 
company would be soothing. You see I am so used to you,’ 
with an affectionate smile ; ‘ the society of some young people 
would make me restless, but I never feel so with you,’ 


^THE LADY^^ WALK: 


63 


TMb little coeiplimeiit touclied me. ^ i always like oomv 
mg liere/ I returned graciously* • 'Jem walked with me to 
the door; he sent his love to you; he was so sorry that you 
were not well enough to see himi ^Bennett told us so.^ 

’ 1 thought Mrs; Lyndhurst laoA^d disturbed; her face 
clouded* 

'Quite right; Bennett knew that I was not fit to talk to 
yoang men. Jem is a nice boy — d, very nice boy; Catherine 
(5 exceedingly fond of him. But no, I could not see him; it 
would have troubled me — it * 

She’ passed her hand over her forehead as though she were 
tired or harassed; a sort of feebleness came into her face. I 
do not know how to describe the expression, but it always 
distressed me when she looked like that, so I hastened to set 
her mind at ease. 

* Jem quite understands — ^he never minds being sent. away. 
Perhaps you may be well enough in a day or two to bid him 
good-by — he is going back to Oxford on Tuesday; oh, I am 
so sorry! Fircroft is never the same without Jem; ho is so 
full of life, he energizes so,, he puts spirit into one^s daily cx>- 
istence — oh, I do not know how to express it, but it seems to 
pervade the whole house.^ 

' The other young men will be still there, will they not ? 
she said, smiling a little at my enthusiasm. 

'Yes, but they are just young men; nobody wants them. 
They are often in the way; young ^men are so stupid. Per- 
haps Mr. Vivian is an exception. He is really nice; not at all 
insipid or slow, like the others; but he is nqt Jem.^ 

' Jein will not always be the first, Olga.' 

'Yes, indeed he will,' rather vehemently, for though of 
course I knew what Mrs. Lyndhurst meant — and why will 
middle-aged people always hint at these sort of things ? — I 
felt confident in my own mind that no one but Harry would 
ever think me attractive, or want to make love to me, and I 
should certainly never listen to him. Harry would never be 
anything but a nice boy to me. 

'Well, well, we shall see. Now, Olga, do you feel inclined 
to read to me ? The box has come down from Mudie's, and 
there are some nice new books. You can choose any you like/ 

This was an unexpected treat. Mrs. Lyndhurst did not 
often' ask me to read to her; but she seemed too fatigued to 
4:alk much, so I made my selection and* read aloud with the 
greatest enjoyment to myself, and, I hope, to her, until Mrs. 
Lyndhurst's maid brought up the tea. Marsden was a kind- 
hearted creature^ and devoted to her mistress, and she always 


54 


TUB SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST, 


seemed pleased to see me. She smiled as she placed the low 
table beside me and arranged the cups and saucers. 

^ I am glad you are able to come, ma^am,^ she said pleas* 
antly, ^ for my mistress seems a little low to-day.’ 

^ That is no new thing,. Marsden,’ returned Mrs. Lyndhurst^ 
v/ho had oyerheard this. 

^ It is none the better for being old, is it, ma’am ? and I am 
sure Miss Olga’s company is always good for ''you. Young 
folk have cheerful ways with them. Will you ring for any- 
thing you want, ma’am ? ’ 

And Marsden, with another benevolent look at us both, 
withdrew. 

Making tea at the Hall was one of my minor luxuries; it 
was a pleasure to me to handle the beautiful Worcester cups, 
while the mere siglit of the little melon-shaped silver teapot, 
with its rich chasing, and the quaint dumpy cream-jug, gave 
me a feeling of satisfaction. I was, like other girls, very 
partial to pretty things. It was so peaceful at the Hall this 
afternoon; only the hoarse cawing of the rooks broke the 
ctillness. The avenue looked as quiet as though it were a 
glade in an enchanted forest; patches of sunlight were 
chequered by faint purple shadows, w^hile a zigzag of golden 
mist, shot through with radiant color, seemed to stretch be- 
tween the tree-boles like a fairy-ladder, all vaporous bright- 
ness. We talked for a little while, and then I took up the 
book again; and so the time passed, until Marsden came to 
warn her mistress that it was time to dress for dfnner. I rose 
to take my leave, but, to my surprise, Mrs. Lyndhurst refused 
to part with me. I had done her good, she said, and, as 
Catherine would be late, I might stay and keep her company. 
My white, dress was quite nice enough for anything, and Ben- 
nett should send a message to Fircroft; and, as Marsden 
looked at me rather wistfully, as though she would beg me 
not to refuse her mistress, I consented to remain. 

. So it was settled, and Mrs. Lyndhurst and I dinejd in state 
in the big dining-room, waited upon by Bennett, the white- 
haired butler, and his subordinate, Reynolds. Mrs. Lynhurst 
hardly spoke, and ate very little, and the silence was only 
broken by the servants’ quiet movements about the room. 
How and then I looked up, and saw the whole scene repro- 
duced in a long mirror that hung opposite to me. The sad, 
pathetic-looking woman, in her black draperies, sitting silently 
at the head of the table, and facing her a slim girl in a white 
gown, wtih smooth brown hair, and large questioning eyes 
that seemed to appeal against the dulness. I think Bennett 


^TBE LADTS WALK^ 


55 


felt, for me, for he handed me everything himself without 
waiting for Eeynolds; and there was something persuasive 
in his tone as he named the various dainties, as though he 
feared a refu^^al. Bennett and I were on excellent terms. At 
the Hall I was generally Miss Olga to the servants, never 
Miss Leigh. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst proposed a turn in the garden after dinner, 
and to this I willingly assented. The long sitting had cramped 
my young limbs, f felt restless, as though I wanted to run, 
to laugh, to do anything, in fact, but accommodate my steps to 
Mrs. Lyndhurst^s languid pace; but she took my arm, and 
leant rather heavily on it, as though sho were weary. As 
usual, she led the way to the Lady^s Walk, and I dared not' 
remonstrate. The sun was setting, but under the thick shaded 
of trees it was already twilight, and the old eerie feeling crept' 
over me. 

Mrs. Lyndhu^t did not seem to notice my uneasiness. The’ 
soft evening air refreshed her, and she began talking in her 
ordinary way: 

^ You have done me good, Olga. I am glad Catherine pro- 
posed sending for you; but it has been a long dull day for 
you, my dear.^ 

‘ Not at all,^ I interposed hastily. 

^It is kind of you to say so; but I am not* an amusing per- 
son. Catherine is used to me, and so she puts up with all my 
odd ways. After all, there is nothing like* a sister. Catherine 
has been far too good to me all her life. l am a great trouble 
to her, but slie never will own it.^ 

I knew the sisters were devoted to each other; but they 
were not demonstrative, and seldom spoke of their feelings. 
I was glad to hear Mrs. Lyndhurst express herself after this 
grateful fashion, for I knew she often gave Aunt Catherine 
a great deal to bear. 

^ You will miss her very much v/hen she goes to St. Croix.* 

^ Yes; but I must not think of that,* she returned quickly. 
^ One must not consider one’s self in the matter. There is 
business to be done — important business — ^and no one can do 
it but Catherine — she is so strong, so clear-headed. She is 
so different to me altogether. I am not old, Olga, in spite 
of my gray hairs, and yet the time has come to me when the 
grasshopper is a burthen. Do you remember how the Wise 
Man puts it : ^^And fear shall be in the way ? ** It seems to 
me as though I dread my own shadow sometimes.* 

^ I wish I could help you and Aunt Catherine/ I began 
wistfully, but I dared not proceed. 


56 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LTNDHURST. 


Mrs. Lyndhurst gave me a furtive Iook. She understood 
without words what I meant. ^ That is for Catherine to de- 
cide. She has been talking to me again. She makes me 
miserable — as though I had not enough to bear without that. 
I do not like reposing confidence in young people — they are 
so hard, they judge so severely. It is the old who are merci- 
ful, who know how to make excuses.^ 

‘ Mrs. Lyndhurst, it is you who are hard now* ^ When you 
were young you vfould not have said that.^ 

Was I ever young? — it is very long ago then; hut you 
must not quote me as an example, Olga.^ 

^ Why not ? ^ rather curiously. i 

^ Because — I was not good — not what a girl ought to be. I 
was self-willed, and bent on having my own way. Catherine 
would tell jou that she does not condone the past, for a,ll hei? 
pity. If I'had only listened to her, if I had allowed her to be 
my conscience, I should not be the lonely, unhappy woman i 
am now.' 

She seemed profoundly agitated, and I dared' not question 
her any more; but my thoughts were very busy over this 
speech. Why was Mrs. Lyndhurst lonely? she had Aunt. 
Catherine ; and, in reality. Aunt Catherine was just as lonely 
as she, and yet I had never heard Aunt Catherine complain. 

. It might be that in her secret heart she wodld have pre- 
ferred a fuller life; that the love of husband and children 
would have been as precious to her as to other women; but 
she never bemoaned her solitary state — on the* whole, she 
seemed busy and happy. Perhaps I was not competent to 
judge; but it always seemed to me that the position of the 
ladies at the Hall was singularly enviable. They had wealth, 
freedom and consideration ; they were beloved by their poorer 
neighbors, and respected and liked by all who shared their 
friendship. After all, was it a bad thing to be free as air, to 
do what one liked, to follow one's bent unchecked and un- 
trammelled by a husband ? That obedience was a formidable 
item in the marriage ceremony — to love would be compara- 
tively easy ; but to voluntarily submit to a master was quite 
another thing. I began to take counsel with myself, if it 
would not be as well always to remain Olga Leigh. 

I was roused from this reverie by a touch on my arm. Mrs. 
Lyndhurst was looking at me fixedly;, her manner was full of 
suppressed melancholy. 

‘Do not take example by me, Olga,^ she said imploringly; 

‘ I- I had my life over again — oh, if we only could ! — how 
difl:erently I would act now ! It is terrible to grow old, my 


^THE LADTS WALK: 


n 

deaf, wlieil one’s youth has been a failure. It is as though 
some inexorable power were compelling us to sit still and 
watch the result of our life-work— we cannot turn our eyes 
away if we would — Give an account, add up the losses of 
the years before death ccmes,^’ that is what it says ; and some 
of us who are miserable, bankrupts fear to turn over a single 
leaf.^ 

‘ Dear Mrs. Lyndhurst, we are none of us without faults.^ 

‘But some are more guilty than others, Olga. You are 
young, but you are good and true ; keep so ; dread the first stain 
of wrong-doing. One wrong act involves another, until we are 
entangled in our own web. I am talking strangely to-night, 
dear child; but one of my^melancholy fits is on me, and the 
sense of loss is heavier than usual.^ She paused, and I could 
see her eyes wefe full of tears. ‘ It is getting late now, and 
you must go home. Leave me to take a turn by myself; 
fiolitude often soothes me.^ 

‘ Must I go,' Mrs. Lyndhurst ? ^ 

^Yes, my child, I think it better; but to-morrow you may 
fcome to us again.^ 

She kissed my cheek with her cold lips and turned away, 
t was ] by myself, and the uncanny feeling returned — Lady 
Gwendoline might be near me. I sped away through the 
garden-paths as though my feet were winged; only once I 
looked back. The moon had iust risen, its faint, silvery light 
illumined the dark walk. Mrs. Lyndhurst was pacing up 
and down it slowly. I could see her tall, graceful figure dis- 
tinctly ; she had drawn her lace-scarf over her gray hair, and 
she looked weird and strange in the dim light. Suddenly she 
stopped and flung up her arms. I could see her thin white 
hands clasping each other. ‘ Will it be too late ? ^ — did I hear 
the words or only dream the® Teo late for me ? too late 
for hhaV 


68 


THE SEAEJJH i'OR BASIL LTHBHEBST. > 


CHAPTEE VII. 

UKLOCKINd pandora’s BON. 

Heigh ho I daisies and buttercups, 

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall ; 

A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure. 

And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall t 
Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure, 

God that is over us all I 

Jean Ingelow 

Soon after this I Jiad to bid good-by to Jem. It was 
always a trying ordeal, and r amoiint of usage could recon- 
cile me to the parting. The floods of tears that that boy cost 
me! Not that I would have let him know how I cried my 
eyes out directly he was out of sight! Jem^s behavior during 
the last few days *had not been wholly satisfactory To tell 
the truth, I found his light-hearted philosophy very trying 
under the circumstances; his cheerfulness was almost aggres- 
sive. He took no notice of my lugubrious looks, and whi’e 
I was counting up the Amours and minutes like a miser, and 
begrudging every duty that called mo away, Jem lounged 
away his time in the young men^s study, talking nonsense 
with Harry Vivian, or boxing x)r fencing with Mr. Campbell. 
The bicycle trip had come off, and Jem had been late for 
dinner that day, and though he had invited me for a walk the 
following afternoon, I found to my chagrin that Harry was 
to be of the party. I could not help giving Jem a reproach- 
ful look as Harry went on to open the gate for Kollo, who 
was wild to get out. 

^What’s the matter now he asked innocently. 

* Why did you ask Harry ? ^ I whispered crossly, for really 
Jem was incorrigible; ‘you might have remembered that I 
should want you to myself for our last walk.^ 

But .my remark did not make the least impression on him; 
he only whii-tbd, and then beaan to laugh as though he were 
amused. 

‘ That^^ the way you mean to talk to your young man, I 
suppose, if you, ever get one ? ^ observed the rude boy. ‘ You 
will have to mind what you are about, Olga. Not many fel- 
lows v/ould be CO good-natured as I am. {lere are Vivian and 


UNLOCKim PANDORA'S BOX, 


59 


I putting ourselves out for your pleasure, and this is the way 
you treat us. Vivian, I hope your young woman will behave 
nerself better than Olga does; she is always grumbling at me 
for something or other. Why don^t you do this or do that ? 
I have to put my foot down pretty strongly, I can tell you; 
it is the only way when one has to deal with girls/ finished 
Jem in a disgusted manner. 

And then to punish me for objecting to that tiresome 
Harry’s company, he talked to him exclusively for the next 
mile or two, but he was very nice the remainder of the way, 
as though to make up for it. 

It was always an understood thing that I should help Jem 
pack, so on the last morning I went up to his room. I 
thought Jem was in better spirits than usual; he rattled on 
volubly : no other word would rightly express his bright and 
inconsequent talk, or the rapidity with which he hurried from 
one topic to another. 

^ Catch hold of these shirts/ and a pile of linen descended 
on my lap; ^ram them in hard, Olga. I don’t believe women 
know how to pack; it wants a mathematical brain to calcu- 
late distance and economize space. There are my new soeks,^ 
a flutter of gaudily-striped things aimed from the other end 
of the room, and caught with difficulty; ^now set to. work, 
old girl, while I pack my coats/ and Jem whistled an air from 
* Les Huguenots.’ If one or two tears dropped on the new 
shirts no one was the wiser. Of course it was only Jem’s 
way, and it was natural that he should be a little elated at 
the idea of his tutorship; it was such a beautifuLhouse where 
he was going, and he would have plenty of fishing, and shoot- 
ing, and tennis, and a host of pleasant new acquaintances, and 
what could a young man ask more ? and of course he could 
not take me with him, so I was a goose to fret ; but, stdl, if 
he would only talk to me, or let me talk to him, and not go 
on quoting French in that ridiculous fashion. 

Jem ate an excellent lunch; he was joking with Harry aB 
the time. Harry was going v/ith him to the station — ^he did 
not address me at all until the last moment. I had run up 
to his room to see that nothing was left behind, when I heard 
him spring up after me three steps at a time. 

^Good-by, old girl!’ he' said, catching hold of me; "'taka 
care of yourself, and don’t get into mischief without me.’ 

' Oh, J em, don’t go yet/ 1 implored ; ^ I want to speak to you/ 

* I can’t stop, the cab’s waiting; ’ and he would not let mo 
detain him one moment. I followed him to the door, and ho 
waved his hand to me with a cheery smile. Hot oven saying 


60 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST.\ 


good-by to me for. five whole months — for I should not se^ 
him before he went back to Oxford — could make Jem look 
grave, even for an instant. I shut myself up in his empty 
room, and had what women call a good cry, and it really did 
me good. 

When I went into the drawing-room, two hours later, feel- 
ing very sad and subdued, I found Harry there alone. He 
was evidently waiting for me, and I was quite sure, from his 
voice, that he was very sorry for me. 

‘ It always seems strange without Jem, doesn’t it ? ’ were 
his first words. ^ I am sure he felt going away very much 
this time ; he was terribly glum as we drove to .the station— 
that is not like Jem at all.’ 

Jem glum ! I could not believe my ears. 

^ He did not talk a bit, and seemed quite down, poor fellow. 
He does not like leaving you. Miss Leigh, that’s what it is; 
and of course it is natural — for if you were my sister ’ 

And here Harry heaved a tremendous sigh which aggra- 
vated me in my tender state, and tnade me rather short with 
him. 

^ But I am Jem’s sister, you see.’ ^ - 

^Yes,’ and here Harry sighed again; ^but if there is any- 
thing I can do for you in Jem’s absence — any little service, 
I mean — I am sure I wmld gladly do it; it would be no end 
of pleasure,’ continued the poor boy rather sadly; ^for though 
I know I am nothing to you beside Jem — and where would 
any one find a nicer fellow ? — still, I do think a lot of you, as 
you know, and it would be just a happiness to me to find out 
anything I could do for you.’ 

After all, sympathy is very soothing, especially when one 
is very low, so I could not help looking kindly at Harry, and 
thanking him; and I suppose my manner was softer than 
usual, for the foolish fellow turned quite red with pleasure. 

^You could not think of anything just now, could you. 
Miss Olga ?’ 

^ No, not this minute; but I will pour you out a cup of tea, 
as Kitty is keeping us waiting.’ I did not like that ^ Miss 
Olga,’ it was too familiar; and I did not quite like the ex- 
pressive look that accompanied it. Really, young men were 
very difficult to manage; to think of all the snubs I had given 
Harry, and yet he presumed to call me ^Mics Olga’ in that 
tone. But I was too low-spirited to resent it actively, and so 
Harry had the best of it that day. 

Jem wrote me a nice little note the next day, to tell me of 
his safe arrival at Middleton Park, 


^UNLOCKING PANBORA'B BOX. 


61 


am in clover/ he wrote; ^it is an awfully jolly place — 
deer park, and such preserves, and the house as big as a bar- 
rack. The widow ^ (Mrs. Middleton had lost her husband the 
previous year) ^is very civil; but, of course, she is a trifle 
melancholy, which is to be expected, poor thing ! and the boy 
is a nice fellow, only not very robust. I expect to have a real 
good time here> and to meefc no end of swells. You may 
write to me as often as you like>and mind you tell me every- 
thing about yourself. I always feel responsible for you, and 
though I don^t like finding fault— being a soft-hearted fellow 
— there is a vein of sentimentality in your character that 
gives me a good deal of trouble. « The worst of an impulsive 
person is— you never know what they are going to do next. 
But no more of this, from your affectionate brother — J em.^ 
Perhaps people might say there was not much in the note 
to make me feel so much happier, but I could read a great 
deal between the lines : J em wanted to hear from me, he was 
anxious to continue my confidant ; I was to tell him anything 
and everything ; and, best of alt, his stoicism had been in- 
tended as an antidote to my sentimentality, and was not really 
want of feeling. And when I had made all this clear to my-; 
self, I cheered up immensely. 

I was happier, too, about Hugh, after a little conversation 
wo had together, _ 

I was sitting on the Fawn bne^evening, watching an excit- 
ing tennis match between Harry" and> Mr. Gampboil^ when 
Hugh ran over the grass and joined me^ 

^ Do you know where mother is. Aunt Olga ? ^ 

^Yes, dear; she is in the schoolroom. M&,b and Jessie 
wanted her to hear their new duet; they have been practising 
it so nicely. I am sure she will be quite pleased to hear 
them. Where have you been all the afternoon, Hugh ? ^ 

For the boy had a bright, excited look. Hugh was not a 
handsome boy; the twins were decidedly pretty little girls> 
and Wilfred had his father’s well-cut features, but Hugh was 
somewhat ordinary, and only his soft brown eyes redeemed 
him from plainness. Still, he was a gentlemanly-looking 
little fellow, and, after all, a boy does not need beauty. 

^ I have been with father/ he returned, in answer to my 
question. ^ We have been for such a long walk — to Bletchley 
and round by Wardley, which was ever so nice.^ 

' You like a walk with father?’ For his voice. quite 
eager. 

‘ Oh yes ! And he talked to me such a lot. Aunt Olga — all 
about my rabbits, and the chickens, and our new plan for the 


62 ^THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 

garden; and he has promised to let Mr. Vivian help us build 
our new summer-house; and theii^ — here Hugh’s voice 
dropped a little—^ he talked about something else.’ 

‘You mean about the school ?’ 

‘Yes; did you know it is all settled, and I am to goto 
Mr. Fulton’s next term ? Father says he knows Eastbourne 
well, and that it is such a nice place, and that I am sure to 
like it. There are eighty boys, and the house is so big, and 
they have a field to play in, and three times a week the boys 
go down to the sea to bathe ; and they have cricket-matches, 
and paper-chases, and all sorts of fun; and he says, too, that 
Mr. and Mrs. Fulton are such kind people, and that he knows 



‘That I did not like it at first, you. know, not until father 
talked to me. I used to cry about it every time I went to 
bed. I did not know what the twins would do without me ; 
and there was mother. But father was ever so nice ’ — Hugh’s 
favorite expression; ‘he told me that he did not like parting 
with me, but that he knew it would be for my good, and that 
I should learn better with other boys; and that if 1 wanted 
to please him, c.nd make him proud of me, I must be brave, 
and not mind leaving home, as my fretting made mother un- 
happy. And so I promised, and he kissed me, and I think 
there were tears in his eyes. So yon see. Aunt Olga’ — with a 
curious blending of grief and triumph in his tone — ‘ father 
really does love me, though I am so stupid. He said it gave 
him great pain not to be able to keep me with him ; and then 
he stopped suddenly and began talking about other things, 
and then we came home.’ 

I v^as very glad to hear Hugh’s account, but I had no op- 
portunity to say more just then, for Mab came running out 
of the house, closely followed by Jessie as usual-^no one ever 
saw the twins apart. 

‘Oh, Hughie!’ she exclaimed breathlessly; ‘mother is so 
pleased with our duet ! ’ 

‘Yes; and we are to play it to father this evening,’ added 
Jessie. ‘We are to sit up on purpose. Shafi we ask mother 
to let you sit up too ? ’ 

‘ Hugh must hear us, of course,’ observed Mab decidedly. 
Both of the twins were devoted to Hugh. They each of them 
took a hand as th ey spoke. ‘ Jjet us go and speak to mother 
at once. Come, Hughie dear I * 

And they carried him off. What a pretty picture they 
looked — the little girls in their v»^hite smocks, with their fair 


UNLOCKim PANVORA'^S BOX. 


63 


hair streaming behind them, and Hugh’s dark, closely-cropped 
head between! Once all the three heads seemed to touch 
each other in their eager talk. Two little arms went round, 
his neck. 

^Oh, Hughie! must you go heard Jessie say in a very 
sorrowful voice. 

Hugh was telling his story over again then. There would 
be lamentations and tears when Hugh left his little sisters; 
he was at once their master and their slave, the patient victim 
of all their little whims, and the grateful recipient of their 
overflowing affection. 

^Of course he must go if father sends him,^ remarked- 
Mab, wlio was more strong-minded than her sister. ^ Never 
mind, Hughie darling, we will write you long letters and tell 
you about the rabbits and everything, won^t we, Jessie ? ' and 
then they each kissed him, and the arms went round his neck 
again, and in this fashion they proceeded solemnly to the 
house. 

Kitty was not the woman to refuse such a request. She 
was far too fond of spoiling her little daughters. When the 
twins played their duet that evening, Hugh was in the corner 
beside the piano. Kitty watched them delightedly: 

^Aren’t they darlings ? ’ her eyes seemed to ask. Her voice 
was full of maternal pride when she spoke. 

Hubert was far more moderate. 

^ Very nicely played, my dears,^ he said when they had fin- 
ished. ^ Kitty, my love, your pupils do you credit,^ and he 
made a bow to each of them in turn. How the twins laughed ! 
^ We shall have great pleasure in seeing these young ladies in 
the drawing-room again, he, Cunningham ? Now run away 
to bed, and, Hugh, open the door for your sisters like a gen- 
tleman.^ 

Hugh obeyed, but Harry and Mr. Campbell were before 
him, and stood at the door like a pair of sentries. 

‘ Thank you,’ said Jessie, lifting up her sweet little face 
rather shyly to the young man as she passed; but Mab, who 
saw the humor of the situation, exploded into a little laugh. 

^Aren’t big people funny sometimes ? ’ I heard her say when 
they were outside. ^Why did you get so red, Jessie; you 
always do. I am sure father liked our piece as well as mother 

During the week that followed I saw very little of Aunt 
Catherine. True, I had resumed my old habits and went 
almost daily to the Hall, but I saw most of Mrs. Lyndhurst. 


64 THB SEARCH FOR SA8IL LYNDHUR8T. '' 

Aunt Catherine was always busy and pre- occupied, and never 
pressed me to stay. 

‘ W e snail have plenty of time to talk presently/ she said 
once, dismissing me with a wistful smile. 

I had nearly finished my modest preparations by this time. 
A new travelling-box, the joint gift of Kitty and Hubert, 
sood in one corner of my room. I used to look at it every 
night with the pleasurable anticipation with which a pilgrim 
might eye his staff and scrip. It was a sort of Pandora’s box 
to me, and most surely Hope was at the bottom. Oh! divine 
gift of all the goddesses, the especial heritage of youth, with 
what soft rainbow tints dost thou paint the future! what' 
golden rays hover amongst those mi sty distances — the vision- 
ary hilltops that inclose the fabulous kingdom of the Might- 
be ! I verily believe that to my young home-bred enthusiasm 
St. Croix seemed a sort of enchanted place,. In youth the 
very charm of novelty is an exhau-^tive pleasure — to wakerup 
in a foreign land, to hear a different language, to see fresh 
sights, to reap new experiences. What would be more de- 
lightful ? It is the tedium, the routine, the changelessness 
of daily life, that weary the young. To inherit only a small 
bare corner of the globe seems very pitiful to the heir of all 
the ages. 

In looking back on those days I am almost tempted to ex- 
claim with the aged Faust: ‘Oh, stay; the moment is so 
fair! ’ As though one could arrest that strarge, sweet dream- 
ing-time that we call youth! 

I was beginning to wonder when marching orders would 
reach me, and to chafe a little at the delay, when one morn- 
ing one of Aunt Catherine’s brief notes was put into my hand. 
•All her arrangements were made, and she would be glad to 
see me the following afternoon. Would I come as soon after 
luncheon as possible — this was all it said. I scribbled off an 
affirmative answer, and then rushed upstairs in a high state 
of excitement to try on the new tweed dress and the hat that 
Kitty had trimmed for me. Then, I am ashamed to say, I 
sat down on the floor before my box and indulged in a delici- 
ous day-dream — ^in which position I was discovered by my 
nieces. The little girls seemed mystified, and stood hand-in- 
hand at the door regarding me in perplexed fashion. 

‘May we come in. Aunt Olga?’ It was Mab who spoke. 
‘We wanted you to tell us how to dress our new doll.’ It 
was always ‘our doll’ — our everything. The twins had every- 
thing in common. ‘You weren’t busy," were you?’ eyeing 
my lowly position rather dubiously. 


UlTLOCKim PANDORA^S BOX. 


65 


'Ho, I was only thinking/ 

^ Do you always think on the floor, auntie ? ^ 

^Oh dear no. I do my thinking anywhere! ’ 

^ We never think quite so hard, do we, Jessie ? We thought 
you were asleep, Aunt Olga; your head was quite down on 
the box, and Rollo was sitting up staring at you. It did look 
so funny, didn^t it, Jessie ? ^ 

^Very funny,’ replied Jessie v/ho generally repeated her 
sister’s words with parrot-like precision. 

Mab had far more originality. Now, I do not know what 
fit of idle mischief was on me that I should infect those little 
innocent creatures with my grown-np imnsense; but I made 
them sit down one on each side of me, while Rollo blinked 
at us between his paws, and thereupon I told them a wonder- 
ful tale of an enchanted kingdom, called Dreamland, wherein 
all manner of loveliness dwelt, and how there were magic keya 
forged that would unlock the mysterious portals, and how I 
was wandering in this strange, fair country when they dis-^ 
turbed me. 

I saw Mab knit her brows at this point, as though she were 
trying to understand, but Jessie exclaimed: 

^ Why, you were sitting on the floor, auntie, doing nothing 
at all ! ’ 

^ Nurse never likes us to do nothing,’ put in Mab; ^she 
always says doing nothing is helping to spin Satan’s web. 
She says so, doesn’t she, Jessie?’ . 

This was not a pleasant idea. Could it be possible that 
these spangles I was weaving were any part of the arch ad- 
verse ;y’s work ? Nurse’s Puritan notions had spoiled every- 
thing. My aerial car of fancy dropped from the clouds. 

‘My dear Mab,’ I observed sententiously, ‘only clever 
people can talk nonsense. Little girls like you cannot be ex- 
pected to understand everything. Now, where is the doll, 
that I may give my opinion on her toilette ? ’ 

And then, as Jessie produced her piece-bag, we were soon 
as busy as bees. Why do we always use that comparison ? 
Spiders are busy, and worms and moles in a dark underground 
way; but to be busy as a worm somehov/ suggests a crawling 
policy, and subterranean deeds unfettered by wholesome day- 
light. To be busy as beavers would be better and more orig- 
inal. I do love those dear clever architects and builders ! 

The next day, as ill-luck would have it — Hubert would 
have preached me a sermon if he had heard me use that most 
heathenish expression — some old friends whom we had not 
seen for years bore down upon us from an unexpected quarter. 


66 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 


invaded our Juncheon-board, and, upon pressing invitation, 
remained to tea. It was in vain that I pleaded my engage- 
ment with Aunt Catherine in an importunate aside to Hubert. 
I must remain and help Kitty entertain our guests, that was 
his reply. They would leave early, and I should still have 
time to pay my visit to the Hall before dinner. 

If there were one point on which Hubert was fussy, it was 
on the duty of hospitality, and the necessity of putting our- 
selves out even for those who were personally antagonistic to 
our tastes. * The law of kindness i& too much set aside in 
these days,^ he remarked in my hearing once, and I am afraid 
the admonition was intended for my special benefit; for Kitty 
was always gracious to the most unwelcome visitor. ^ ‘‘ Thy 
own friend and thy father’s friend forsake not.” l am always 
reminded of that text when I see young people yawning 
metaphorically in the presence of their elders, and mentally 
stigmatizing them as unmitigated bores. We should try to 
remember that by-and-by we shall be old bores, too, and that 
a younger generation will turn its cold shoulder to us. What 
a pity, then, to withhold, our kindly looks and words where 
perhaps they are greatly needed. ^^Do as you would be done 
by,” that is the golden rule, after all.’ 

Now as Hubert always tried to practise what he preached 
in his own gentlemanly way, and Kitty, like a true wife, aided 
and abetted him, people generally stayed twice as long at 
Fircroft as they would have done at any other house ; luncheon 
visitors remained to tea, and so on. ^ It is difficult to tear 
one’s self away from this delightful house, dear Mrs. Leigh,’ 
had often* been the speech of a gratified visitor, and on the 
present occasion I really thought Colonel Morison and his 
sister would never go. I sat literally on thorns the latter 
part of the afternoon. I saw Kitty look at me reproachfully 
once or twice as though she thought I was not taking my 
fair share in the conversation. ^ Olga knows this,’ ^ Olga will 
tell you that,’ she kept saying. ^ Olga, will you show Miss 
Morison the photo of Jem in his undergraduate’s cap and 
gown ? ’ — ^and so on. 

Well, it was over at last. Hubert had taken up his felt hat 
to walk with his visitors to the gate, and Kitty had accom- 
panied them to the door. I saw my opportunity for making 
my escape; in another minute I was crossing the lawn like 
a lapwing; the kitchen garden, the paddock, were soon left 
behind; long before Hubert had finisned his good-byes I was 
walking up the Elm Avenue, and the rocks were cawing a 
welcome 


UNLOCKING PANDORA^^ BOA, 


67 


I eno'nntered Bennett in the hall; he told me that Miss 
Sefton was in the garden, that I should find her by the sun- 
dial, and I proceeded there at once. 

I should have known where to have looked for her, even 
if Bennett had not informed me; the'seat by the sundial was 
her favorite place. It was a quiet, sheltered spot, shut in by 
high walls covered vdth fruit-trees; the broad walk was planted 
with standard rose trees, and every few yards a rose-covered 
arch spanned the path. In the rose season the elfect was 
beautiful. 

Aunt Catherine was in her usual seat, and Jasper, her es- 
pecial pet, was strutting up and down before her, trailing his 
glorious tail behind him, followed by the mincing steps of 
his humbler consort. Beryl. She held out her hand to me, 
with her quiet, welcoming smile. 

^ You are late,^ she said gently; ‘1 was beginning to fear 
that you were not coming after {ill.^ 

^ Oh, it has been so tiresome ! ' I exclaimed, and I began to 
explain volublwthe reason of my delay; but Aunt Catherine 
heard me rather absently — she was evidently thinking of 
something else. 

^ What does it matter ? ’ she said, when I had finished ; ^ you 
are here now, and there is plenty of time for oar talk. Look 
at Jasper!^ for the beautiful creature had mounted the sun- 
dial and was slowly unfurling his plumes. ^ Virginia had a 
headache, and remained in her room, so I had tea alone, and 
came out here. I wanted to see you especially this evening, 
Olga. Bo you guess what it is I have to say to 'you ? ' 

‘ Oh, Aunt Catherine, do you mean that you are really going 
to tell me your business at St. Croix ? ^ 

‘ Yes, child, I am. I think, after all, it will be best. Vir- 
ginia is against it — that is what has caused her headache; she 
knows I mean to tell you this evening. > I am reposing great 
trust in you, Olga, but I kpow you are reliable.^ 

I squeezed her hand without making any reply; words were 
hardly needed. Aunt Catherine and I understood each other. 

‘ Well, then, I may as well tell you at once that I am going 
to St. Croix solely and entirely on Virginians account; that 
the business is hers, not mine.* She paused, as though she 
found it difficult to proceed. ‘We have obtained a clue — at 
least, I hope to obtain it — a clue by which we may discover a 
treasure she has lost.^ 

Was that all ? but her manner was very strange. 

‘ What sort of treasure do you mean. Aunt Catherine ? ^ 

‘ I mean Virginia’s son/ she answered calmly. 


68 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYKBHURST 


CHx\PTEK VIII. 

VIKGIKIA^S STORY. 

* ^ Wliat is good for a bootless bene ? 

The falconer to tlie lady said ; 

And she made answer : “ Endless sorrow I ” 

For she knew her son was dead.* 

Anon. 

I littered an exclamation, and almost jumped from my seat. 
Kever, never in my whole life had I been so surprised! But 
Aunt Catherine did not look at me. She merely repeated 
the words, with a certain dreary inflection, as though she had 
learned them by rote : 

‘ I am going to look for Virginians son.^ 

* But, Aunt Catherine, n I stammered, turning very red, for 
I was so confused, so taken aback altogether, that I hardly 
knew what to say, ^ no one in Brookfield knows that Mrs. 
Lyndhurst ever had a child.^ 

‘ Dr. Langbam has alWays known it,n she returned com- 
posedly. *^d now you know our secret, Olga — the secret 
of my sisterns unhappy life. He was only a year old when 
she lost him, and that was five-and-twenty years ago/ 

Five-and-twenty years ! I could scarcely realize it. I knew 
that Mrs. Lyndhurst had married young, and that she was 
three or four years older than Aunt Catherine. Her son 
must be a full-grown man six-and-twenty. How had she lost 
him ? What did it all mean ? 

All at once I recalled the evening when Jem and I had 
wandered in the Hall garden, and we had encountered the 
wierd, ghost-like figure in the Lady’s Walk; and again a 
sudden flash of memory brought before me vividly the pale 
face and silvery hair over which the white hood was drawn 
so closely; and the words sounded in my ears as though they 
were freshly uttered: ^Oh, my sin! Will it never be con- 
doned ? Will there never be an end to all this suspense and 
misery?^ and * God only knows!’ uttered in a despairing 
voice. 

^ Olga *■ — ^and here Aunt Catherine looked at me pleadingly, 
and I could see she was much agitated—^ my great fear in 
telling you this miserable story is this, that you will blame 


VIRGINIANS STORY 


69 


Virginia ; but you must not — indeed, you must not." She has 
been very weak ; she has suffered— and tho pain has been too 
great for her. We are not all alike; some of us are stronger 
to endure than others. I would have you remember this, and 
not judge her harshly. Who should knov/ her so well as I 
do ? and I have never blamed her, except for marrying Paul 
Lyndhurst.^ 

‘ Will you tell me all about it. Aunt Catherine?^ 

^ I will tell you as much as it is necessary for you to know; 
but there are some things that must not be repeated, neither 
do I care to dwell on the story of. Virginians mad infatuation 
for her lover. Why is it, Olga — but you are too young to 
answer such a question — why is it that an evil nature — an 
latterly perverted and immoral nature — can ever dominate 
and gain the mastery over an innocent one ? Virginia was 
good — yes, in spite of her little faults and vanities, she was a 
good, pure-minded, girl — but her love for Paul Lyndhurst 
blinded her. She would believe nothing against him — 
nothing.’ 

‘ I have heard— I think it was Hubert who told me — that 
Mr. Lyndhurst was a singularly handsome man.’ 

‘ You are right; I think his face was almost perfect. Tho 
features were finely-cut, as we see them in Greek sculpture; 
his physique was magnificent; he was just a beautiful, soul- 
less animal. I was very young then, not more than eighteen 
or nineteen, and very shy and diffident; but I had my ideal 
— every girl has that, I suppose.’ She caught her breath and 
hurried on: ^ I cared for goodness in a man more than any 
degree of attractiveness, and I used to shrink instinctively 
from the subtle sneer that lurked in Paul Lyndhurst’s hand- 
some eyes. 

^ I remember once arguing with Virginia until I was on the 
verge of tears. 

‘ “ You must not have him,” I said ; he is not good. I am 
sure he is not good, Virginia. He says horrid, sneering things 
in a polite way. Oh, his manners are fine — I know that — but 
he is inwardly cruel! I am sure of it. He dislikes old and 
plain people. He makes fun of them, and derides their little 
infirmities; and he is not kind to animals. See how he treated 
his dog yesterday! Oh, Virginia! do struggle against this 
infatuation! Rome is a bad place for you. Let us ask father 
to take us awav. We shall be safer au Brookfield — dear old 
Brookfield!” 

‘ But I might as well have spoken to the wind. 

“‘You are prejudiced,” she said coldly; “Paul said only 


70 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURST. 


yesterday that you had disliked him from the first, and it 
was because he was poor and had no friends. You are hard 
on him, Catherine. He is very unhappy. He says he has 
not a friend in the world but me; that there is no hope for 
him if I forsake him ; but I never will give him up — he knows 
that, my dear, noble Paul ! 

^Ah, he had bewitched her, or she never could have used 
that word of 'Paul Lyndhurst. 

Of course, I know now, Olga, that I ought to have warned 
my father, but we were too much in awe of him for any such 
confidence. If' our mother had lived I would have spoken to 
her at once; but our father — no, it was impossible. I dreaded 
his anger too much. It is a sad thing, Olga, when children 
fear their parents. Virginia h'^d always been our father’s 
favorite. She was a bold, high-spirited girl, and he was very 
proud of her. It was Virginia who was always the spokes- 
woman — who could coax him to do anything; but I was timid 
and awkward in his presence. It needed more courage than 
I possessed to tell him the state of things between Virginia 
and Paul Lyndhurst; and, as though to accelerate matters, 
father had taken a strong fancy to the young artist, and had 
him perpetually to the house. 

^ Our stay at Eome was drawing to a close, and I was begin- 
ning to breathe more freely, hoping that time and absence 
would weaken Virginia’s unhappy attachment, when all at 
once the blow fell! Without giving me a hint of her rash 
resolve — without bidding me good-by — Virginia left the 
house secretly one morning and was married to Paul L3md- 
hurst, and when the news reached us she was on her way to 
Venice with her husband! Olga, it is useless to dwell too 
much on a painful past. I will leave you to imagine my 
father’s bitter anger and my own grief. I saw the letter he 
wrote in answer to her piteous plea for forgiveness — it was a 
cruel letter for any father to write; but I can make more al- 
lowances now. He told h^r that she was no child of his now, 
that he would never see her again, that he had done with her 
forever. She had disgraced her name. He would never ac- 
knowledge the beggarly artist she called her husband. Her 
little fortune, bequeathed to her by her mother — about three 
thousand pounds — should be made over to her at once; but 
she need never expect a penny of his — it should all be Cather- 
ine’s. Poor father, he was almost beside himself with anger 
and mortified love v^hen he wrote that letter.’ 

^Oh, Aunt Catherine, how dreadful!’ — for she paused a 
moment in her recital. 


VIROmiA^S STORY. 


71 


^ Yes/ she replied gently; ^such scenes and such words are 
very dreadful to remember; one longs for a draught from 
Lethe sometimes. My child, those two years were the saddest 
years of my life. I had my own troubles, and the Hall was 
desolate to me without Virginia. I had fiever been my 
father’s companion, and I could do little to comfort 'him in 
his trouble. In my heart I reproached him for his hardness; 
but I never dared to mention Virginia’s name. • Now and 
then during the first year of her absence she wrote to me, but 
her letters were very brief and unsatisfactory. She seldom 
mentioned her husband’s name, or said she was happy. My 
questions on that point were left unanswered. They were 
always moving from place to place — one letter was from 
Naples, the next from Munich, a third from Basle. I never 
knew where to find her, and more than one of my letters 
came back to me. The last one I' received was written in 
pencil, and told me of the birth of her boy. 

“‘He is not like Paul,” she wrote; “he is more like our 
family, and I mean to call him Basil, after our little brother 
who died. Perhaps when my father hears that, he may be 
touched. How I long to show you my baby, Catherine! He 
is such a pretty little fellow, and so good; he hardly ever 
cries. My husband does not wish to have him baptized. 
Paul is a freethinker, you know, and laughs at my supersti- 
tion, as he calls it; hut my baby shall not grow up a heathen. 
I am determined upon that. If. there be no other way, one 
of those kind-looking priests at St. Sulpice shall baptize him. 
I would rather have him baptized in tire Koman Catholic 
Church than have ];im a heathen; but there is plenty of 
time.” The letter ended abruptly here; but a postscilpt had 
been added a few days later : “ I have been ill again and could 
not finish this, I will send it as it is.- Ho not be anxious if 
you do not hear again soon. Paul does not like me to write; 
he says I have no one but him Jiow. Oh, Cathy, darling, why 
did I not listen to you ? I have sown the wind to reap the 
whirlwind. Baby is prettier than ever; he grows so fast. 
God bless you. Your loving sister, Virginia.” 

‘ I laid my letter on my father’s desk. I had never dared 
to show him one before. When I went into the study the 
next morning it was gone; but he never spoke of it. I 
thought it had been destroyed; but after his death we found 
it in an old pocketbook he always carried about with him. 
The letter was creased and almost illegible, and in its folds 
was the tiny lock — ^scarcely more than a few hairs — poor Vir- 


72 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


ginia had cut off her infant’s head. I remember how bitterly 
Virginia cried when she saw it.’ 

As Aunt Catherine again paused her eyes were full of tears. 

‘ Oh, it is all so sad — so sad/ she went bn, ‘ it gives me the 
heartache even now to remember it. I noticed a change in 
my father from that day; he become more abstracted and 
melancholy, nothing seemed to interest him. At times he 
seemed restless and unsettled. Now and then, as we sat alone 
together, he with his book, and I with my embroidery, he 
would look at me fixedly, as though he wanted to say some- 
thing; and then his lips would close more firmly than ever, 
and he would turn away and take up his book again. I used 
to wonder sometimes if he were thinking of Virginia, but I 
dared not ask him the question. 

^ One night — it was a wild autumnal night, I remember, for 
the wind was crashing among the elms, and I heard the fall 
of a great branch once — we were startled by the loud ringing 
of a bell. It was late, and the servants had just gone up to 
bed, so my father went to the door and undid the bolts him- 
self, v. bile I followed him. 

‘As he flung the door wide open, a tall veiled lady, muffled 
up in a foreign-looking mantle, quietly stepped into the hall. 

‘We were both much startled. “Madam-^ ” began my 

father, in his quick, haughty way, but the lady put back her 
veil and looked at him. “ Good heavens! it is Virginia! ” he 
exclaimed, turning very piile. 

‘“Yes, father, I am come back. Will you take mo in? 
Shall I go dqwn on my knees to you ? ” She laughed rather 
strangely; her eyes were wide and glittering. “ Cathy, why 
do you not kiss me ? .Have you forgotten we are sisters ? 
Do you know what I have done ? I have r;in away from 

Paul! I have left him, and I have left ” but here her 

face became very white, she put out her hands as though 
feeling blindly for some support, and if my father had not 
caught her she would have fallen at his feet in that deathly 
swoon. We were unwilling to summon help, so we carried 
her between us, and, laying her down on the drawing-room 
couch, applied all possible remedies; but it was a long time 
before she recovered consciousness, and she did not speak to 
us again that night. She lay motionless, with closed eyes, 
only every now and then a convulsive shudder seemed to 
shake her from head to foot. If my father’s anger had ever 
been bitter against her, it died a natural death now. He only 
seemed to remember that she had come back to him again. 
Her very helplessness and misery appealed strongly to his 


VIRGINIA'S STORY. 


73 


fatherhood. He sat beside the couch holding her hand, and 
every now and then stroking it, and. ance he looked at me 
pitifully, as though to demand sympathy. My poor father! 
the furrows of his hardness were broken up forever ! I knew 
then how he had loved her, and how cruelly his pride in her 
had been wounded. 

‘ She was sadly changed, our poor Virginia ! Her girlish 
beauty was gone; she looked ten years older than when we 
had seen her last. Her face was drawn and haggard, and 
there were dark circles round her eyes. In the broken-down 
creature before us, who could have recogniaed our bright, 
high-spirited girl ? 

^ I thought that night v/ould neVer have passed. Now and 
then she opened her eyes and looked at us, but only a low 
moan escaped her lips. Toward morning my father roused 
the servants, and sent off one of them for Dr. Langham — it 
was old Dr. Langham then. A terrible fear had assailed us 
— Virginia’s mind was unhinged by trouble! But when Dr. 
Langham arrived, he comforted us a little on this point. 

‘ She has had a shock,” he said decidedly; very possibly 
a series of shocks, for she is worn alihost to a skeleton, and it 
has brought on this attack ‘of tha nerves. From her appear- 
ance I should judge that she has not touched food for hours. 
We must be very careful,” he continued by-and-by; indeed, 
I may say there is urgent need of care. The brain is a very 
delicate piece of machinery ; at present she is as much in pos- 
session of her reason as you or I, but the brain is torpid. 
These nervous disorders are very misleading to non-profes- 
sional people — in extreme cases they certainly approximate 
to insanity. Her mind is over-strained — unhinged, if you 
prefer the word. A little more, and I would not answer for 
the consequences.” 

‘Dr. Langham was right; he was a clever man, and we soon 
realized the truth of his words. For some days Virginia lay 
in this strange torpid state ; she was perfectly tractable, and 
would take food from our hands like a child; but she did not 
seem to recognize us — at least, she never spoke to us — only, 
v/hen my father kissed her, she would turn aside, and lie 
v/ith her face to the wall, moaning in a sort of heart-broken 
way. 

‘ “ You must give Nature time,” Dr. Langham” would say; 
“ every power of mind and body is exhausted at present. By- 
and-by, when she can speak, she will explain everything.” 
And again he v/as right. 

‘About a fortnight passed, when one day I noticed a change 


74 


THUi SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


in her. Dr. Langham noticed it too. She is coming 
round/^ was all he said; “this restlessness is a good sign. 
Get her to speak, it -v* 111 relieve her.” . 

^ Blit there was no need for any effort on my part. Dr. 
Langham had hardly left th.; room before I heard Virginians 
voice calling m6.n 

^ “ He is wise — very wise/^ she said feebly. “ Yes, let me 
talk, Cathy; let me get rid of all that is oppressing men’ — 
here she put her hands on her breast, as though a weight 
were there. I lay down beside her on the bed, and she crept 
nearer, till her face was against my shoulder— and then the 
whole miserable story came out. It was well my father was 
not there; no man could have controlled himself and listened 
quietly. Long before she had finished, my tears had dried up 
in a blaze of womanly anger — that he should dare to treat a 
Leigh so! 

^ I can only touch briefly on that story. If Paul Lynd- 
hurst had ever loved Virginia — and there was grave suspicion 
for this doubt — his love did not survive tho honeymoon. 
Before many weeks of their ill-starred union had elapsed, he 
had throw off his disguise and shown himself in his true 
colors. The first quarrel had been about her money: ho 
chose to consider himself injured by the smallness of her for- 
tune; her father’s threat of disinheriting her in my favor 
made him savage. “ If you had played your cards better we 
should not have landed ourselves in this hole,’’ he said to her 
angrily. It was in vain poor Virginia protested that it was 
no fault of hers; that to please him, and him only, she had 
consented to the secret marriage. He only flung away from her 
with a covert sneer at the easiness with which he had won her. 

^ Oh, he was a bad man, this Paul Lyndhurst, a cold, black- 
hearted villain. Think of the misery of a pure-minded, 
delicately nurtured woman, carefully sheltered from all knowl- 
edge ^f evil, suddenly finding herself tied for life to a man 
without a shred of honor, without principles, without re- 
ligion, and, lastly, without love for herself. 

‘Alas! there were darker shades in Paul Lyndhurst’s char- 
acter, which she found out by-and-by: an inveterate gambler, 
he soon squa-ndered half her little fortune; and to complete 
her disgust, she soon discovered he drank deeply. Poor un- 
happy Virginia! nothing but her pride, and her despair of 
her father’s forgiveness, prevented her from leaving him and 
returning home; and by-and-by another reason kept her. 
After the birth of her boy her husband treated her better, 
but this peaceful state of things did not last loner. After a 


VIRGINIA*^ STORY, 


75 


iime his cruel moroseness returned; something had gone 
wrong with him — his work suffered, and, as usual, he wreaked 
his ill-temper on his wife. Virginia had been long in recov- 
ering from her confinement; before she had regained her 
strength they left St. Croix, where her boy was born, for 
Havre, and here she had a second illness. 

‘ On her recovery she saw a change for the worse in Paul. 
He had always been uncertain in his temper, but now his 
moods were savage; he seemed as though he hated her, and 
was determined to embitter her existence. There were cruel 
scenes, and Virginia, v/eak and broken-spirited by daily insults 
and ill-treatment, conceived at last a perfect terror of her 
hsuband. The very sound of his voice or his footstep threw 
her into a state of nervousness that was almost indescribable. 
One night — but I will spare you the details, Olga — Virginia, 
almost wild with terror and shame, rushed out of the house 
like some hunted thing, ard wandered up and down the dark 
streets, with only one thought, to hide herself where Paul 
could never find her again. By some strange fortune she 
found herself presently on the quay. Suddenly it occurred 
to her that at this hour the boat would be starting for South- 
ampton. Like one in a nightmare she took out her purse. 
She had sufficient money, so she paid her fare, muttered 
something about her luggage being too late, and, going down 
to the cabin, threw herself upon a vacant berth.' * 

I could keep silence no longer. 

‘ But her child. Aunt Catherine ? — her little boy ? ' 

And Catherine shook her head. She looked at me almost 
imploringly. 

‘ Ho you not understand, Olga ? She was not herself — my 
poor Virginia! The cruel pain had blotted out her memory.' 

^ Do you mean she had forgotten him ? ' 

Aunt Catherine bowed her head solemnly. 

* Don't, Olga — don't speak yet. Did I not say you must not 
blame her ? I know what you are thinking, Can a woman 
forget her sucking-child, that she should not have compassion 
on the son of her womb ? " But that such things can be we 
are. also told in the same text; but let me repeat her own 
words : 

I knew nothing — I thought of nothing, but to escape 
Paul. My brain was on fire. Perhaps I was mad. God 
grant it,. but I fear I was not! Only I had forgotten every- 
thing in my unreasoning terror. In the darkness of night, 
just before dawn, my memory returned, I heard the groan- 
ing of the paddle-wheels and the long wash of the waves. A 


76 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST, 


child in the next berth woke up crying. The. sound went 
through me like an electric shock. My baby ! I had forgotten 
my baby ! I had left him asleep in his little cot, with his 
bonne beside him, and had come down to Paul, who had been 
already cursing at my delay. He had bade me fetch my bon- 
net and mantle, for some wild expedition he had planned. 
It was my refusal to accompany him that had brought on the 
shameful sceiiie. I thought he meant to Jfill me, for he was 
mad with drink, and I fled out of the house.^^ ^ 

‘Poor. thing — poor thingl And she did not go back to 
him ? ^ 

‘No; her one thought was to take refuge with us. She 
kept saying to herself all the remainder of the way, “ Cathy 
is kind; she will bring me my baby.’^ But when she reached 
us her strength was gone; that night of agony had done its 
work.^ 

‘ Oh, Aunt Catherine ! ^^and I was crying bitterly now — 
‘surely you or the Squire tried to find her child for her ? It 
is too dreadful to think of, that dear baby left with the cruel 
man ! ^ 

‘My dear, I could not leave Virginia, and my father v/as 
too old and broken for such a business. But we put it into 
the hands of our solicitor, to gain possession of the child; and 
a trustworthy person was sent over to Havre to settle matters 
with Paul Lyndhurst. There had been an inevitable delay 
of some weeks. When the agent arrived he was too late. 
Two days before, Paul Lyndhurst, accompanied by the child 
and the bonne, had left Havre; but no one knew where they 
wq^e gone. 

‘ “ Monsieur had been in a terrible humor ever since 
madame had lefV^ the woman of the house had informed 
him; “nothing had given him satisfaction. When old Lisette 
had taken the boy to him he had sworn at her and bade her 
keep the brat out of his sight. Lisette was a bold woman to 
accompany him, for monsieur was one who feared neither Jo 
hon Dien or the devil, but he paid her well, and — well, one 
does anything for money. Lisette was a proper nurse; she 
was devoted to Monsieur Beb^. Monsieur Bebe was smiling 
like an angel when they left the house.^^ And this was all : 
lather and child had vanished as though the earth had swal- 
lowed them up. In vain we advertised and spent time and 
money in the search. My father and I went again to Rome. 
France, Germany, Switzerland were all searched by our agents; 
but nothing could be heard of PauJ Lyndhurst. Once we 
thought we were on the right track; an artist answering to 


^IIE WAS SO PRETTY, OLQAP 


77 


the description had been found nearly frozen to death on 
some Alpine pass; but on questioning the monks he proved 
to be a German. 

' Olga, you may imagine the rest : the heartsick suspense 
and longing, on Virginians part — the alternation from hope to 
despair. Qne moment she believed her boy was dead, the 
next she cried out that he was alive, and that Paul had de- 
praved him and made him like himself. Her boy^s future 
was ruined, and all through her! Yes, you may^ guess the 
rest : Virginians trouble has been the burthen of my life. It 
is a good many years since we relinquished all hopes of ever 
finding Basil; but the thought that, if he be living, his grand- 
fatherns will has made him master of the Hall has given us a 
new incentive for action. A few weeks ago we received in- 
formation from one of our agents that Paul Lyndhurst was 
dead. It is to verify this that I am going to St. Croix; but I 
cannot induce Virginia* to accompany me, poor dear! She 
will have it that he may not be dead, and that she is safer at 
the Hall. 

‘ The priest who is our real informant of Paul’s death is 
supposed to be the same who baptized Basil; anyhow, it was 
at St. Croix, at the very St. Sulpice that Virginia mentioned 
in her letter, that the child was secretly baptized. Now you 
know all, Olga, and I am terribly weary. I can talk no more.’ 


CHAPTER IX. 

HE WAS SO PRETTY, OLGA I' 

* I now must change these notes to tragic.’ 

Milton. 

Aunt Catherine’s tired face certainly verified her words, 
and I pressed her to go back to the house and rest. 

‘ Perhaps it will be best,’ she returned after a moment’s 
hesitation. ^I can see my story has excited you; it would be 
well for us not to discuss it now. Go home, dear child, and 
to-morrov/ come to me again, and I will tell you my plans for 
next week.’ 

And then we walked together to the Hall door, and parted 
without another word. As I looked back for a moment to 
wave my adieux, I sav/ Mrs. Lyndhurst watching us from her 


78 'THS~&EARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


window; but she gave no sign of recognition; on the contrary, 
when she saw she had attracted my notice, she drew down 
the blind hastily, and I walked rapidly down the avenue. 

The first gong sounded as I entered the house, so there was 
no time to lose. I dressed hurriedly and took my place at 
the table, and tried to talk as usual; but my manner must 
have been strange, for I saw Kitty look at me inquisitively 
once or twice; she was as sharp as a needle, and was very 
quick to detect the least thing amiss. When we went back 
in the drawing-room she followed me under the pretext of 
showing me her w^ork; she was smocking a little frock for 
Girlie-ga. 

‘ Is there anything the matter, Olga ? ^ she whispered. ‘ I 
hope there is nothing wrong at the Hall ! ’ 

‘ What should be wrong ? ’ I answered shortly, for this sis- 
erly espionage annoyed me. 

‘i don’t know; only your eyes look as though you have 
been crying.’ 

^Nonsense!’ — still more abruptly; ^you are always fancy- 
ing things, Kitty. Mrs. Lyndhurst is not very well; but that 
is nothing new. I sat with Aunt Catherine in the garden, 
and we had a good long talk. Jasper was lovely. He spread 
cut his tail just to attract our attention. Beryl kept pecking 
at Aunt Catherine’s gown, to remind her of the sweet cake 
she had promised her. \Vhat beautiful creatures they are!’ 

‘And wh’ch day do you start?’ asked Kitty, not particu- 
larly interested in these details. 

This was embarrassing. I colored up, and answered rather 
awkwardly : 

‘Aunt Catherine did not tell me. I am to know to-morrow. 
She was tired, and l did not stop so very long.’ 

‘Only two hours,’ was the somewhat sarcastic rejoinder, 
and then Kitty carried away Tier work. 

I had not deceived her in the least. In her own mind she 
was quite sure that something had happened. It was trying 
to have such a tell-tale face, and really that habit of blushing 
over every trifie was extremely ridiculous. I was thankful 
that Jem was not there to add to my embarrassment. Every- 
thing was tiresome that evening. Hubert, as usual, requested 
some music, and as Kitty was busy, I was obliged to remain 
at the piano for the next hour to accompany Mr. Cunning 
ham’s flute. The pieces were long and difficult, and I played 
worse than usual. To add to my vexations, Mr. Cunningham 
begged my pardon at every mistake, and entrea^d me to go 
over the erring passage again. ^ 


^HE WAS SO PRETTY, OLQA! 


79 


^No one is listening/ he observed; ^and we may as well get 
the thing perfect. Let us try that page again. Miss Leigh. 
One, two, three.^ 

The mild 'tout, tout^ of the flute recommenced. Mr. 
Cunningham’s head wagged contentedly over his beloved in- 
strument. Crash went the pedal. I was fast losing patience 
and temper under the ordeal, when Harry interposed. He 
had been watching us both for some time, though he had only 
been pretending to tease Rollo. At the next break-down he 
came to my rescue : 

' Why don’t you shut up that beastly noise, Cunningham ? ’ 
he said quite crossly. 'Don’t you see Miss Leigh is tired 
out ? You ought not to trespass on her good -nature. Here 
you have been a good hour blowing on that confounded flute, 
and no one has a chance of speaking a word!’ 

I am afraid Harry was very rude; but we were none of us 
too polite to Mr. Cunningham. 1 do hate a rich, lumpish 
young man. 

Mr. Cunningham unscrewed his flute. *He was affronted, 
and no wonder, by Harry’s uncivil remarks. 

' You have no soul for music, Vivian,* he returned stiffly. 
' People who cannot play themselves, and know absolutely 
nothing of music, generally set themselves up for critics. 
Thank you. Miss Leigh; you played that last passage charm- 
ingly. I like a staccato movement,’ but I would not listen to 
his heavy encomiums any longer. I gave Harry a grateful 
smile and slipped away to my room. 

I am afraid to say how many houTS it was before I slept 
that night. Mrs. Lyndhurst’s sad story haunted me. I went 
over it point by point, and again my tears flowed as I thought 
of the miserable mother ivho had lost her child so strangely. 
My heart ached for her, and yet my sympathy was not un- 
mixed with blame. ' How could she have done it ? ’ that is 
what I kept saying to myself over and over again. It was 
right for her to leave that wicked husband. Ko one could 
blame her for that, if she had only taken her baby with her; 
but to forget her own child^and yet she was not mad — to 
leave that boy in his father’s power ! Oh, how could she, how 
could she? that v/as always the summing-up. No; I could 
not understand it. The utter horror of it all baffled me. It 
is almost impossible for youth, with its healthy, natural views 
of life, to comprehend the workings of a morbid tempera- 
ment, dominated by a subtle and cruel power. The complex 
mysteries of human nature are not to be unriddled by the 
young. Such a case as Mrs. Lyndhurst’s needed the wide 


80 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 

comprehension of a psychological student — wise in the science 
that is most conversant with the phenomena of the mind. 

If I had been older, the difficulty would have 'been easier 
of solution, for no thoughtful person who has lived long in 
this world will deny the singular contradictions and surprises 
of human nature. The man, the woman, acts in a diametric- 
ally different way to what we expected; strange things are 
done on sudden emergencies — there is utter collapse of the 
reasoning powers. Can human nature betray itself after this 
fashion ? ‘ Look at Judas, at Peter, at a hundred examples 

of failures,^ would be the answer of the psychologist; ^ Judge 
not is the command of the All-knowing and All-merciful.^ 
When I went to sleep that night I felt 1 loved Mrs. Lynd- 
hurst less; but none the less I pitied' her sincerely. When 
the morning came I was still in the same mind, only I was 
determined Aunt Catherine should never know the change 
in my feelings. I went up to the Hall in the afternoon. 
Aunt Catherine was writing letters in the library. She re- 
ceived me with her usual kindness, and began at once talking 
about her plans. It was Saturday, and wo were to start the 
following Wednesday. AVe were to take an early train to 
town, lunch at an hotel, and go down by the boat-train to 
Southampton; the boat would not start until midnight. 
There was a little more talk about arrangements, a few ques- 
tions about luggage, and so on; and then Aunt Catherine 
turned again to her davenport. 

‘ These letters must go by the afternoon post,’ she said 
quietly. ^ Will you go up to Virginia now, Olga ? and we 
will meet again at tea-time;’ and as I seemed a little taken 
a^ck at this proposition, she continued: ^Virginia wishes to 
see you. She knows we were talking yesterday; she made 
me promise to feend you up to her.’- 

Could anything be more embarrassing ? But I had no ex- 
cuse ready; Hubert and Kitty were paying parochial visits — 
no one at home wanted me — so I was obliged reluctantly to 
leave Aunt Catherine’s comfortable presence, and go in search 
of Mrs. Lyndhurst. On my way upstairs I encountered 
Marsden. I thought she looked at me a little oddly as she 
drew back to let me pass. 

^ Mrs. Lyi^dhurst is in her sitting-room, I believe ? ’ I asked, 
by way of saying something, for I knew quite well where I 
should find her. 

'Yes, ma’am; but. Miss Olga,’ addressing me rather hesi- 
tatingly, 'my mistress is very poorly this afternoon. She 
seems low and nervous. It is cheerfulness she wants, not any 


^HE WAS SO PRETTY, OLGA!^ 


81 


sort of sad talk — I mean, you will be careful with ner. Miss 
Olga?^ 

I never knew Marsden strange in her manner before; her 
round, good-natured face looked quite prim and solemn. 
Was it possible that she was in her lady’s confidence ? She 
was an old servant, and a very faithful one, but somehow I 
hoped Marsden did not know about little Basil. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst was in her usual place. I am afraid as f 
greeted her my manner was a little constrained, for she looked 
in my face very searchingly as she held my hand. After a 
moment she dropped it, but she did not ask me to sit down, 
or question me in her usual pleasant way. 

^Aunt Catherine told me you wanted to see me, Mrs. Lynd- 
hurst,’ I began rather awkwardly. 

'Yes,’ she returned sadly; 'I wanted to see for myself. 
" When she comes into the room I sliall know,” that is what 
I said. You are not a good actor, my dear — has any one told 
you that before ? I dare say Jem has. Your face tells every- 
thing in a moment. You were sorry that I sent for you; 
you have no wish to see me — that is ail written very legibly, 
Olga.’ 

‘ Please don’t, Mrs. Lyndhurst.’ 

'Is it painful for you to know that? Youftg people are 
seldom hypocrites; they are too eager; their impatience be- 
trays them. It is better for you to be true, Olga, even though 
you do condemn me. What is it ? I said to Catherine, " Do 
not tell the child — do not> do not.” It is the young who are 
the most pitiless of our judges. They make no allowances; 
with them black is black . and white white — there are no 
medium shades, no mercy, no extenuation. You have done 
wrong; you must suffer for it. Is it not Draco whose laws 
were written in blood ? Well, the young are Draco-like.’ 

I was nearly crying by this time. Why should she say such 
dreadful things ? and how was I to answer her ? It was cruel 
of Aunt Catherine to expose me to such an ordeal ! 

'I can read the question in your eyes, Olga,’ she went on. 
'You have pretty eyes, my dear, very soft and gray; but they 
have a terrible way of asking questions. " How had you the 
heart to do it, you unnatural mother ? ” that is what they say.’ 

'Oh, hush, ple'asc, Mrs. Lyndhurst!’ 

'My dear, I cannot hush; there is a time for everything — 
Solomon said that, did he not ? — ^and my time has come for 
speaking. " How could you do it ? ” Olga, that is the ques- 
tion I have asked myself for twenty-five years, and I have not 
found the answer yet,’ 

6 


82 the search for basil lyhdhurst. 


It was terrible to hear her; her voice was thin and strained, 
and there wj^s a pinched look about her face; but she took no 
notice of my entreaties to her to spare herself and me. 

^ If I have sinned, I have had my punishment. Think of a 
punishment lasting five-and-twenty years! — five-and-twenty 
years Can I ever forget the dreary tone in which she re- 
peated th 36 words ? ‘ It is more than your whole lifetime, 
Olga.^ 

I felt a curious revulsion of pity as she spoke. My youth- 
ful severity was not proof against such misery: without ask- 
ing myself again how such things could be; I threw my arms 
round Mrs. Lyndhurst, and begged her not to talk so sadly. 

‘ Indeed I will not blame you ! ^ I said earnestly, and I fully 
m.eant what I said. ‘ It is not easy for me to understand. 1 
am so young, you see, and so happy, and I have never been 
tried; but, indeed, I will not be hard.* Only you must not 
talk like this.* 

For there was a wildness in her manner that frightened 
me, for it brought back the scene in the Lady^s Walk. 

My caress soothed her; she was one who depended on sym- 
pathy. The i;igid muscles relaxed; a softer look came into 
her eyes. She stroked my hard- without speaking for a few 
minutes, and then she said more quietly : 

^ Yes, I am to be pitied. God only knows what I have suf- 
fered all these years! Oh, he was so pretty, Olga— my baby! 
He had such dear little hands and feet, and such a cooing 
voice. Somehow I always think of him still as my baby, and 
yet he is a full-grown man.* 

I was silent. It would not hurt her to talk in this quiet 
fashion; perhaps it might be a relief. It certainly pained me 
to hear her; but what of that?— were we not told to bear 
one another’s burdens ? 

• ‘ I have always dreamt of him,* she went on, ^ Sometimes 
the dreams were happy, but at other times they were terrible 
— terrible! They were never quite the same. I used to 
dream of him as a little child, and then as a school-boy. 
Once he was showing me his prizes. I was opening one book 
after another. Basil Theodore Lyndhurst ** was written in 
every one. I called him Theodore after my father — the gift 
of God. I used to say it over to myself sometimes. It was 
so true — my baby was the gift of God ! * 

I would*" not interrupt her by a word, and she went on 
softly, as though talking to herself. 

^ Once he had some childish ailment; he was feverish and 
suffering, and I remember ho^v frightened I was. ^^If my 


^HE WAS SO PRETTY, OLGAP 


83 


baby die, I shall die too,” I said to •juizette. She was a good 
old creature. She was rocking the old-fashioned Flemish 
cradle as I spoke, and she looked up and shook her head at 
me. " Le bon Dieu will not take the little angel,” she said 
solemnly. " He knows, and the Blessed Mary knows, that 
madame has trouble enough. Jt is only our Lady of Sorrows 
who has her heart pierced through and through with pain. 
Madame will not have to suffer. She is young and feeble, 
and le bon Dieu knows that.” Poor old, Lizette ! she was 
very good to me. But, Olga, she little knew, if I had lost my 
baby then I should have wept like other mothers, and have 
been comforted. I should not have wept tears of blood all 
these years.^ 

^ God has watched over him, dear Mrs. Lyndhurst.^ 

^Ah! so. Catherine says. That is how she comforts me. If 
it were not for that thought I must have lost my reason. 
Now and then all hope fails me, and I dream that he is dead. 
When I wake it seems to me that I must search the world 
over, only to find his grave.^ 

^ Poor, poor Mrs. Lyndhurst ! ^ 

^ But that is not my worst fear ^ — and here she shuddered 
— ^ there are times when far more terrible thoughts assail me. 
What if he should have become like his father ? Catherine 
has told you about iny husband. Do you think a man like 
Paul would be a fit guardian for an innocent child ? ^ 

^ He had Lizette,^ I interposed, eager to give a crumb of 
comfort; for she had touched now on the very point that 
troubled me. 

^ Yes; but he would not require a nurse long; Lizette would 
be dismissed, and then how would it fare with my boy — no 
mother to counteract his father’s teaching? What if he 
should have grown up a freethinker? What if he should 
have learned to scoff at religion, at women, at everything — 
like Paul ? Could he touch pitch and not be defiled ? Could 
he live for years with that godless, bad-hearted man, and not 
be utterly depraved ? Oh, if this be the case, I pray — I pray 
most solemnly that I may never see my son’s face in this life.’ 

Her voice had grown more intense, more tragically earnest, 
A cold shiver ran through me at her words. This awful 
probability had already crossed my mind. If it were true, 
oh, how much better it would be to stumble on some foreign 
tombstone, some wooden cross, .in a far-off cemetery, and 
ready the name of Basil Theodore Lyndhurst engraved there ! 
If I could only find some word to comfort her! And then I 
remembered the beautiful story of Monica and St. Augustine : 


S? THJE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHXIRST. 

file reckless prodigal feeding on huskfi; the weeping, praying 
mother; the consolatory speech, so strangely prophetic, spoken 
by a holy man — ^ The child of sp many prayers and tears 
cannot be lost.’ Mrs. Lyndhnrst kissed me when I had fin- 
dished the simple story. If she had heard it before she did 
not say so, but a faint smile came to her face. 

^It maybe so — God grant it!— and my prayers may have 
been an invisible shield to Basil. I will try to think so, and 
then my pain will be less.’ 

^ Yes; and Aunt Catherine hopes that she may hear some 
news of him at St. Croix.’ 

^ The news will be very vague, I fear,’ she returned sadly. 
^ Pere Lefevre, the priest who baptized my little Basil, has 
only lately returned to St. Genette. You Know St. Croix is 
only the suburb. He is again attached to the parish church, 
St. Sulpice. We have heard a rumor that he has been at- 
tending the death-bed of an English artist. The descrintion 
tallies with that of my husband/ 

‘Is that all?’ for I thought at least that come clue had 
been discovered of Basil. 

‘ That is all at present'; it is for Catherine to find out all 
she can from Pere Lefevre. If it be not under the seal of 
confession he will tell us what he knows. These priests have 
kind hearts. If we could only find old Lizette!— but she 
must be long dead.’ 

‘ Was she very old ? ’ 

‘Perhaps not. It is difficult to judge of the age of these 
peasants. Their hard work makes them look older than they 
really are. She might have been fifty/ 

‘ That would make her seventy-five now/ 

‘ Yes, if she be liring, but I doubt it. There is nothing 
but doubt and regret all round. Even if I find him, even if 
Catherine is successful, and one day I shall hear Basil is alive 
:ind is coming home, do you think even such blessed news as 
that can atone for the past ? Think what I have lost, never 
to see him in his childhood, his boyhood, his early manhood, 
to have some strange bearded man suddenly come to me and 
say, “You are my mother; lam Basil, your son. Where is 
my grandfather’s property that belongs to me ? Where are 
my goods that I ought to have enjoyed all these years ? ” How 
am 1 to recognize him whom I saw last as a baby ? ’ 

‘Yes, yes, I see what you mean; it is very hard for you.’ 

‘ Will he be like Paul, and frighten me with his father’s 
likeness ? Will he love the stranger who calls herself his 
mother ? Oh, they talk of nature, of instinct, but instinct is 


^HE WAS SO PRETTY, OLGAP 


85 


sometimes blind. I may say to him, " Come, embrace me, 
my son;^' and he may anwser coldly, How am I to feel you 
are my mother? — affection in a man. cannot be forced. We 
have never been anything to each other; the whole world has 
divided us. How am I know my English mother from any 
other woman ? ” ^ 

‘Is this how you have tortured yourself all these years, 
Mrs. Lyndhurst ? ^ 

‘Yes, Olga. Ask Catherine, for she has been my guardian 
angel; ask my good faithful Marsden how I have tried them. 
There were times when, like Cain, my punishment was more 
than I could bear — then it was that Catherine was a tower of 
strength to me. “You have still a sister,” that is what she 
would say to me. .1 could not have borne my life without 
Catherine.’ 

Just then Marsden’ interrupted us. She had a tea-tray in 
her hand. As she set it down she looked at her mistress’s 
agitated countenance with disapproving eyes. 

‘ You have talked too much, ma’am,’ she said, with a solemn- 
shake of her head. ‘I warned Miss Olga; but I see it has 
been no use. Now you will have one of your bad headaches.’ 

‘It was not my fault, Marsden,’ I pleaded; for the good 
creature seemed greatly disturbed. 

‘ No, Mary, you must not scold the child. I was obliged 
to talk, and I think she has done me good. Go down now, 
my dear, and leave me with. Marsden. We quite understand 
each other, and she knows she may scold me as much as she 
likes;’ and she smiled up in Marsden’s face, but the faithful 
soul was hardly mollified. She saw signs of suffering in her 
mistress’s drawn face and weary eyes, and was anxious fpr my 
departure. 

Aunt Catherine was awaiting me in the drawing-room. 
She looked at me scrutinizingly as I sat down beside her. 

‘Well, Olga, can you forgive Virginia now?’ 

I forget what my answer was, but I know it satisfied Aunt 
Catherine, for she took my hand and said soothingly : 

‘Don’t cry, dear; I am afraid you have had a painful scene 
with my poor sister; but it was better for you to^see for your- 
self — now you know what my life has been.’ 

‘ Oh, Aunt Catherine, how could you have borne it all these 
years ? ’ 

‘That I can hardly tell you. We all have our work in life 
— Virginia is my work.’ 

‘ But it must have been so depressing.’ 

‘I would not allow it to depress me. I had many duties— 


86 


THE ^EARQ-^ FOR BASIL LYHBHURST. 


the care of our property, our poor, the search for Basil as ouf 
rightful heir, the old name to keep up in the country. Then 
I had my pleasures, my books and garden, and ^ — here she 
looked at me very sweetly — ^the affection of my adopted 
daughter.' 

^ Oh, Aunt Catherine, am I indeed a conifort to you ?' 

Her ansv/er took me by surprise, for she was rarely demon- 
strative, and seldom expressed her feelings. 

‘ Sometimes I think you are my greatest comfort. You are 
a great deal to me, Olga; you always have been. Now drink 
your tea, my dear, and let us talk of something else/ 


CHAPTEE X. 

A FAIRY GODMOTHER AND A PRINCE. 

‘I give you my word I am heart-whole.’ ' 

Red Gauntlet. 

‘If we cannot be belter friends, do not at least let us entertain 
harder or woi-se thoughts, of each other than we have now.’ 

Wordsworth. 

Aunt Catherine kept’me with her a long time. She saw 
that I was much upset, and she wished to -change the current 
of my thoughts, and as I still seemed low-spirited and unlike 
my usual cheerful self, she took me up to her room .under the 
pretext of showing me a new travelling rug that she had juot 
bought. After which she unlocked her wardrobe and brought 
out her jewel casket. 

^ I have never shown you my trinkets, Olga,' she said quietly, 
^and I know girls love to see pretty things. These all belong 
to me. Virginia's are at our banker's. She has never worn 
a single article of jewelry these five-and-twenty years, with 
the exception of one or two diamond rings; and as her orna- 
ments are much handsomer than mine, it was hardly safe to 
keep them in the house.' 

‘ Oh, Aunt Catherine, what lovely things ! ' I exclaimed in 
ecstasy^ as she opened one case after another, and showed me 
their glittering contents. ‘ 1 think 1 have seen that ruby 
pendant before; you v/ore it when you went to the Colling- 
woods’ — that night I helped you dress, and you wore your 
black satin. I know Kitty told me how well you looked — 
the best dressed woman in the room.' 


4 FAIRY GORMOTHER AND A PRINCE 87 

^ ^Whaf; a distinction!^ she returned, smiling at my enthu- 
siasm, but I knew she liked the little compliment. ^Well, 
Olga, you seem entranced with my treasures. I suppose you 
think me enviable to be the owner of all those fine things ? ^ 

I am afraid I did think so. 

' They give me very little pleasure,^ she went on, without 
waiting for my ansv/er. ' I suppose if Basil be living these 
will go one day to his wife. That is why A’^irginia hoards hers 
so jealously. You see they are chiefly old heirlooms. They 
have been in our family for years and years. Do you see that 
enamel pendant set round with pearls — see how discolored 
the pearls are with age — they say thf?.t belonged to the Lady 
Gwendoline, and that Ralph of the Iron Heart gave it to her. 
No one has worn it since — it would have been considered un- 
lucky; but they unclasped it fron; her neck as she lay in her 
coffin. Think of the contrast, a love-token reposing on the 
shrivelled neck of an aged woman ! If it were not for the 
knowledge that love is- eternal, and that the heart cannot 
grow old, one would disbelieve the reality of such things.' 

' Lady Gwendoline's story is so terribly §ad.' 

' It is not sadder than many other women’s stories,' she 
answered, and her tone was a little peculiar, ' Not so sad as 
Virginia's, for example. If Gwendoline had accepted her 
fate, and had not bewailed over her misery until her poor 
brain was crazed, she would have led a more peaceful existence, 
doing her daily work with patience until death called her to 
rejoin her lover. Poor soul, the truth was revealed to her at 
last ! Do you remember her dying words : " Heaviness may 
endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning ?"' 

Aunt Catherine's manner had grown a little solemn. 

' There are thou ’.ands of unspoken and unwritten stories — 
some of them as sad as poor Gwendoline's. Love comes to 
most Women, but it does not always bring happiness with it. 
Some hide their pain like the famous Spartan boy of old 
hid his fox. They keep their own secret unflinchingly to 
the end; others take it meekly as their appointed cross. 
" What I do thou knov/est not nov/, but thou shalt know 
hereafter” — I would write those words' on many a single 
woman's grave.' 

, 'Aunt Catherine,' I began timidly, but she stopped me by 
showing me another trinket. 

' The others are heirlooms, as I told you, Olga; but my 
father gave me this, and I have always meant it for you-— 
don't blush so, child. I suppose I may give you a trinket if 
I like, and I know you have so few pretty things.' 


88 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST 

This was the truth, for my mother had been a poor vicar’s 
daughter, and her few simple ornaments had been given her 
by her husband. Only a bracelet and a ring or two of no 
particular value had como into my possession. 

^But, Aunt Catherine, this is far, far too beautiful for me! ’ 
I gasped. 

MV^hy so?’ pretending to misunderstand me; ^it will 
look very well on your round, white throat, and it ;s so simple 
and girlish.’ 

^It is perfectly exquisite,’ I stammered, and indeed it was 
very unique and uncommon. It was a necklace formed of a 
single row of gems — all of them different — set very lightly. 
Some of the stones were costly, others less so, and the effecjt 
was extremely good. 

^Do you like it, Olga? I am so glad. I have always 
meant it for you. Now help me to clear up all this finery. 
If there ever be such a person, Basil’s wife will have ample 
choice, will she not? for all these must go by right to her. 
There, let me lock them up safely; and now you must run 
home, or Virginia will be wondering what has become of me.’ 

I carried off my treasure and showed it proudly to Hubert, 
who was sitting alone in the drawing-room. He examined it 
curiously, and then looked at me with rather an odd expres- 
sion- 

* Do you admire it, Hubert ? is it not kind of Aunt Cath- 
erine to give it to me ? ’ 

^ It is very good of her. I think it extremely handsome ; ’ 
he returned in his precise way. ‘ You are a lucky girl, Dlga. 
There is no doubt at all that Miss Sefton is much attached 
to you.’ 

^That is nothing new,’ I replied pertly, for I thought his 
manner rather tiresome. 

‘But it is more evident now. Jem was only saying some- 
thing of the sort the last .evening he was at home. You see 
neither Mrs. Lyndhurst nor Miss Sefton is young, and they 

have no heir. So, as Jem says ’ but I was not going to 

hear what Jem did say, and I took away my necklace rather 
crossly, for it annoyed me to see Hubert dangling it on his 
fingers, and peering at it through his spectacles while he 
talked such nonsense. 

‘ I am quite sure Aunt Catherine will never leave me a penny 
of her money, if that is what you mean,’ 1 observed in a vexed 
voice; ‘and what is more, I do not want it; and I cannot 
bear you and Jem to say such things — it is dreadfully mer- 
cenary and’ , 


A FAIRT GODMOTHER AND A PRINCE. 


89 


'What a silly. child you are!’ he replied good-humoredly; 
'but there, Jem and I will keep our thoughts fb bUrselves if 
they annoy you^ I hope you will show Kitty your necklace/ 

And then 1 marched off with a good deal of dignity. How 
tiresome of Hubert and Jem to think of such nonsense! But 
of course they did not know of Basil’s existence, so perhaps 
they were not so much to be blamed, after all. I was doubly 
anxious now for poor Mrs. Lyndhurst to find her son, if only 
to prevent people thinking of such ridiculous things. 

I went up to the nursery to find Kitty; on Saturday even- 
ings she was always up there for an hour helping nurse. 
Nurse was busy in the inner room, and Kitty was sitting by 
the window putting in clean tuckers in the children’s Sunday 
frocks. The twins had just been saying their prayers; they 
were standing by their mother in their little blue dressing- 
gowns, looking fresh and fair from their ablutions. 

'May we stay a little, mother?’ exclaimed Jessie eagerly, 
as she perceived me. 

'Auntie will soon be going away,’ observed Mab as a conclu- 
sive argument. 

And than they both climbed up in my Ian and pleaded for 
a story. 

' It must be a Sunday story, I am afraid,’ finished Jessie, 
'because we have just said our prayers and hymn, and mother 
would not like fairy-stories after' that.’ 

'No, darling, you are quite right,’ returned Kitty. 'But, 
indeed, you must not keep them, Olga; it is quite time for 
them to be in bed.’ 

' Let mo show them this first,’ I suggested, opening the case. 
And then there was an exclamation from mother and daugh- 
ters. 

'"What a beauty you will look in it, auntie!’ from Jessie. 

'Auntie is auifce a beauty without that,’ contradicted Mab 
, — oh, the lovely innocence of childhood ! — ' but she will look 
ever so much nicer in it — quite a grand lady.’ 

' Let me see it, children dear. Aunt Olga meant to show it 
to me.’ And Kitty held it in her hand admiringly. ‘ Yes, 
it is very handsome ; it will just suit you, Olga Miss Sef con 
is extremely generous.’ 

But though she said no more, I could read her thought: 
' The ladies have no heir, and they are fond of Olga ! ’ Good 
Gracious, how I longed to shout 'Basil Theodore Lyndhurst’ 
into her pretty little ear! 

The* little girls left us reluctantly after this, and then Wil- 
fred came in to say his prayers. I always liked to watch 


90 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYJYDHURST. 


Kitty witli her children. Her tired face — and how very, very 
tired she always looked now ! — had a soft, motherly expres- 
sion on it. 

^ Mother, why do yon always stroke my head when I say my 
prayers ? ^ AVilfred asked suddenly. ‘ Is it to keep time with 
the words ? I think I am too sleepy to say my hymn ; please 
let me off.^ 

will say it for you, Willie.’ 

And as the little fellow nestled up against her, she sang it 
in a low, crooning voice that was as good as a lullaby. Nurse 
carried him off half-asleep after this, and Kitty turned to her 
work again. 

^ Do let me help you,’ I pleaded ; but she shook her head 
smiling. 

^ There is so little to do, and I like doing it, Olga. I do so 
love working for my children; they will not always be little; 
when they are grown up they will not need me. Don’t you 
think Mab is growing very fast ? ’ 

* Yes she is much taller than Jessie.’ 

^She is quite a little mother to v7illie and baby now, and 
she is so nice to her father. Hubert was only saying so yes- 
terday. If anything were to happen to me — I mean, if they 
lost me — Mab would take care of them all.’ 

^ Thank you, Kitty ; I suppose you have forgotten my ex- 
istence,’ I returned, in a half-affronted tone. ‘ Mab, indeed ! ’ 

Kitty laughed — she could not help it — but her tone was 
still melancholy. 

N I beg your pardon, Olga. I thought, of course, you would 
be married. You do not suppose that I should ever ask you 
to sacrifice yourself for my children ? What would J em say ? ’ 

^ Whatever he. liked. Kitty, why will you talk in this dole- 
ful fashion ? It is quite ridiculous. Mab and Jessie are 
both so pretty that they will be sure to marry young. Mgb 
would just do for Harry, when she grows up, and then you 
and Hubert will be Darby and Joan. What a handsome old 
couple you will be ! ’ 

Kitty looked at me thoughtfully, as though she were try- 
ing to imagine the picture. 

^Hubert is always saying things like that. "When the 
children leave us,” " AVhen Wilfred is a man,” and so on. It 
gives me rather a shiver to hear him/ 

^ Why ? You are very incomprehensible this evening.’ 

‘ Oh, I don’t know ’ — folding up her work. ^ I never think 
of the future. I cannot imagine myself old. It takes *all my 
strength to live my daily life; I am too tired to look beyond. 


A FATRT GODMOTHER AND A PRINCE. 


91 


I have all I want now—Huhert and the children, and you 
and Jem. I have a sort of faith that as long as my children 
need me I shall be here. I know you think me odd, Olga, 
but my mother die;;] young, and I suppose that gave me the 
notion that perhaps I should never be old either.^ 

I looked at her anxiously. Kitty was always prone to low 
spirits. \7as it my fancy, or did she look a little thinner and 
more fragile than usual? ^Want of tone,^ Dr. Langham 
called it. Well, no one thought much of that. 

‘ I hope you do not talk to Hubert in this way,^ I observed, 
in a scolding tone. 

^Oh no; it would only make him unV -py, poor fellow! he 
takes too much care of mo now. I don't know what Hubert 
would do without me, Olga.^ 

‘I don’t know what any of us would do without you, I re- 
turned,’ with a remorseful kiss or two, for how often Jem and 
I had been cross with Kitty 1 ^ Now, pray — pray don’t talk 
any more in this ghoul-like manner — ^it is just overwrought 
nerves — for you will tire yourself so dreadfully; and oh! how 
angry Hubert would be if he heard you! He would send for 
Ur. Langham at one, and order you up to bed.’ 

‘That is just why I do not tell him,’ she returned; and a 
little mischievous sparkle came to her eyes. ‘ He is so fussy, 
dear old fellow, and makes so much of. every little ailment, 
so I just keep my bad feelings to myself, and never tell him 
what makes me so cross sometimes.’ 

‘ Well, you may tell me instead’ — a great effort of magna- 
nimity on my part, for I did hate talking about ailments, and 
presentiments, and all kinds of doleful things; and Kitty’s 
remarks were so often set in the minor key. To my surprise, 
she thanked me quite affectionately. 

‘ May I, indeed, Olga ? That is so kind and sisterly of you ! 
I dare say it is all fancy, and that talking it over comfortably 
with you will do me good. -You see, when one has a husband, 
one is obliged to think of his feelings; and Hubert is very 
easily depressed. So it will be nice to tell my troublesome 
feelings to you.’ 

Nice for Kitty, perhkps! But I was not the woman to 
shirk my word; and, after all, Kitty had lots of worries. I 
thought of Aunt Catherine’s noble example as I went to my 
room, and the burthen she had so patiently borne all these 
years. Perhaps she had wanted to be married, and had given 
up some one she loved to stay with her afflicted sister. I 
thought what a good woman she must be, and I made a reso- 
lution to be m.ore to Kitty, and to help her as far as possible 


92 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 


over the rough places of life; and again those touching words 
of Amiel came into my mind: ^Oh, be swift to love — make 
haste to be kind/ 

Kitty’s plaintive conversation made me secretly uneasy, 
though I would not allow myself to say so. Most likely, the 
tragical talk of the afternoon had unhinged me — even a healthy 
young person can be nervous. I was tired and creepy, and 
did not like make allowances for Kitty’s unconscious exag- 
gerations. And yet I have always noticed^ that people who 
talk much about their feelings — who count their own pulsa- 
tions and regulate their own heartbeats — are liable to over- 
step the truth, and to draw too largely upon their imagina- 
tion. 

I found myself watching Kitty during the evening. She 
was certainly a little quieter than usual. She brought her 
work t^o the table where Hubert was playing backgammon 
with Harry, and sat beside him quite contentedly. Once he 
told her that she was trying her eyes and had better go to bed.. 

^ You work too hard for us all, little woman, ^ he said, look- 
ing at her tenderly. 

I saw Kitty slip her hand into his : 

* Do let me stop a little longer; it is so nice and quiet, and 
I like being with you/ 

Harry was rattling the dice rather noisily, and did not 
overhear the little conjugal whisper. 

^ I dice not above seven times a week/ observed Harry sen- 
tentiously. ‘ Mr. Leigh, are you aware I am quoting Shak- 
speare ? Actually thjse words were written by the immortal 
William. Mark the line, pregnant with meaning: ‘‘I dice 
not more than seven times a week.” ’ 

‘ I congratulate you on your memory, Tivian,’ returned 
Hubert dryly. ^ Whose throw is it ? — mine ? Deuce ! — acc — 
come, that’s lucky! Kitty, my dear, I mean to beat this fellow 
hollow; he has grown too conceited/ 

So, after eleven years, Kitty still cared to sit by Hubert. 
Matrimony was not such a dull affair as I thought it, after 
all. Only, as I took care to add, if I ever should have a hus- 
band he must be diametrically opposed to Hubert; no beard, 
no spectacles, no fussy humdrum ways! And he certainly 
should never call me ^ my dear ’ — I should settle that before- 
hand with him. ^My dear!’ Could anv two words be more 
insufferably patronizing ? 

Now it was the very next evening that Harry behaved in 
the most tiresome fashion. In fact, I was so shocked that I 
cried about it. We were walking home from church together, 


A FAinr GODMOTIim AND A PRINCE. 


93 


and were jnst sauntering along in a lazy way, because the 
evening was so beautiful, when he made me turn into a little 
lane on the pretence of listening to a nightingale, when all 
at once I found, to my dismay, that he was proposing to me ! 

If I had not been so angry I must have laughed, for it was 
too absurd, and yet the poor boy was quite in earnest, and, 
in spite of his youth, there was a manly dignity about him 
that checked any propensity to merriment. 

^ You ought not to be so severe. Miss Leigh,’ he said depre- 
catingly, as I again repeated that I was excessively annoyed. 
‘ Of course you nave never encouraged me; but when a fellow 
likes a girl, he has a right to tell her so.’ 

* He has no right — none at all,’ I replied hotly, for what 
would Hubert say to us ? and how unmercifully Jem would 
have laughed at us both! For though Harry would be tre- 
mendously rich one day — he ’v^as an only son, and Colonel 
Vivian was at the tip-top of county society — he was only 
twenty, and ought to be thinking of his studies, and not 
making himself miserable about a girl a few months younger 
than himself. Besides, if I ever married, my husband must 
Jbe at least ten years older than myself. 

I hold a different opinion,’. he returned, flushing at my 

1 )etulance. Poor, dear Harry, how nice and handsome he 
ooked, and how foiid I was of him!. ‘You are very hard on 
me. Miss Leigh; as though I can help loving you;’ and then 
he said a great many pretty things, and would not let me in- 
terrupt him until he had finished, and then he said quite 
humbly: ‘Won’t you give me just a little bit of hope ? I am 
BO fond of you, that even a crumb of comfort would be some- 
thing, If J may speak to you again in a year’s time, or 
two ’' 

But I stopped him decidedly. 

‘ It is no use, I cannot care for you in that way, Harry. I 
like you; you have always been so nice and kind, and you 
have given me Rollo ; but I will not be so wicked as to give 
yon any hope. We will be friends. Oh yes, we will always be 
friends, and I shall be so interested in all that concerns you.’ 

‘I see it is all up with me,* he returned gloomily; ‘but of 
course I am not such a cad as to press a girl. If you ever 
alter your mind ’ — here I shook my head — ‘you must just let 
me know, for I shall never care for any one else.’ (‘ Oh, Harry, 
what a fib ! ’) ‘I suppose you would not let me, just for once ’ 

but as I drew myself up the poor boy blushed and 

apologized. I took his hand and held it for a moment; therq 
were tears in his eyes, and I was so sorry for him. 


94 


'T'HE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


‘No, Harry dear,’ I said gravely; ‘how do I know that in 
the years to come I may not like somebody else better, and 
then I should feel sorry if I had let any one else kiss me. 
No, we can be friends without that;’ and then, as he still 
continued dejected, I talked to him in quite an elder-sisterly 
way. Harry’s sisters were only school -girls of fourteen and 
fifteen. I gave him a great deal of excellent advice, to which 
he listened in a most docile manner; but I am not sure that 
it benefited him, for as we turned our faces homeward he 
produced a little packet from his waistcoat pocket, and in a 
shamefaced manner tendered it for my acceptance. 

It was a pretty little brooch, and must . have cost a good 
deal; but I put it Jback in his hand. 

‘You must keep that for Ada or Laura’s birthday,’ I said 
quietly, and he did not venture to say another word. When 
we reached the hall-door I shook hands again with him — this 
time very solemnly. ‘ You poor boy, I must forgive you, I 
suppose, but you, must never do so again,’ and I ran upstairs. 
I cried a good deal that night, for I .was so sorry to have vexed 
him; but as I brushed out my hair before the glass, I peeped 
at myself once or twice rather curiously. 

‘ So I have actually refused an offer ! ’ I thought; ‘ I wonder 
if I shall ever have another. Kitty said she never cared for 
any one until she saw Hubert — that the moment he saw him 
she had an odd sort of feerling. I rather like that idea; in 
fairy tales everything is so deliciously sudden: the prince 
comes riding up; he just throws a glance at the fortunate 
princess. “ I am he,” that is all he says, and he holds out 
his hand, and they ride away into fairyland. I shall never 
have another chalice, I know; but, all the same, I should like 
something out of the common. Jem says I am av/fully 
romantic. “What a goose you are, Olga!” he would say. 
Well, I am a goose,’ and with this humiliating confession I 
scrambled into bed, ' 


LA MAISOimETTK 


95 


CHAPTEK XL 

LA MAISONNETTE. 

*Oh, the moorland by the sea, where the purple heather groweth. 
And the bracken rears its crozier ^raidst the mosses^ and tlie ling; 

AThere the brown bee ci’oons its song as it gaily homeward ^goeth. 
And the wheeling sea bird stoopeth the white wonder of its wing. 

* Oh, the incense-breathing firs I the great firs that skirt the moor- 
land. 

Shedding perfume all about it, from soft surging plumes of 
green, 

That with strong protecting arms, leaning inward from the fore- 
land, 

Let the tender, warm sea-azure here and there slip in between. 

Helen Marion Burnside. 


’ Do you feel better, Olga ? ' 

»No — yes — I don^t know. Aunt Catherine,^ I rjBplied, speak- 
ing in the smallest of voices, and struggling up into a sitting 
posture. I am afraid I must have looked a miserable object 
huddled up in my berth, for Rollo sprang up and licked my 
hand; and, in spite of her pity. Aunt Catherine could not 
forbear a smile. 

^ Poor child, I am so sorry you have had such a wretched 
time. The captain owns it was a little fresh, but I was too 
good a sailor to mind it. Now, Olga, you must <^ink this 
cup of tea and try to join me on deck. We are jus"? nearing 
the quay, and it is such a lovely morning.’ 

will try,’ I replied languidly; ^but please' do not wait 
for me.’ 

For in my present mood it almost aggravated me to see 
Aunt Catherine so well and brisk; she looked as trim and 
comfortable as though she had slept in her bed at home — not 
a hair awry, and quite a fresh color in her face. Indeed, as 
she took care to inform me, she had slept soundly the first : 

E art of the night, and then, finding the cabin close and un-1 
earable, had gone up on deck to watch the daybreak, / ; 
A little fresh, that was what they called it ! Never had I 
passed such a nightdn my life! It had seemed interminable, 
lying there in misery ana discomfort, listening to the labor- 1 
ing engines and the wash of the waves, and seeing nothing^ j 


9(5 


THE SEARCH FOR BA^IL LYHDHURST. 


but the swinging lamps and the rocking walls of the cabin.' 
Now and then it appeared to me as though the floor were 
merged into the ceiling. Dim figures seemed to reel through 
the distant door. Now we seemed to sink with swing-like 
motion into some deep trough of the waves, and then to rise 
with an awful regularity and precision. How I longed for 
my dear little room at Fircroft, for Kitty, for Jem — even 
Hubert would have been a comfort — to be anyw'here out of 
this suffocating place, which to my giddy, confused senses 
seemed full of white, cadaverous faces, and whispering voices 
grotesque with misery! 

It was good of Aunt Catherine to bring me that cup of 
tea; but in spite of its restorative effects I still felt so faint 
that it was with difficulty that I could dra^ myself from my 
berth; and long before I had put the finishing touches to my 
toilet, the boat stopped, and wo could hear the rush of foot- 
steps overhead. 

‘ Olga, my dear child, what a time you are I ’ and Aunt Cath- 
erine looked at my pale face with concern. ^ The luggage is 
being taken to the Custom House, and we must go ashore at 
once. DonT look so miserable; the fresh air will do you a 
world of good, and you will soon feel all right again.^ 

And with these cheering words she handed me my hat and 
gloves, and bade me follov/ her on deck. The first rush of 
cool morning air turned me giddy, and I clutched Aunt 
Catherine’s arm for support. I was dazzled, confused by the 
sunshine and bustle, the crowding passengers, the 'sharp volley 
of speeches. A strange blending of English and French 
voices seemed to fill the air — gendarmes, drivers of fiacres, 
and sailors. How strange it all looked ! What a medley of 
foreign life! What glovr and coloring! Before us were the 
gray walls and buildings of St. Genette, the broad quay planted 
with plane-trees, the stream of people and luggage going to 
the Douane; behind us the blue sea, with its tossing, crested 
waves sporting in the sunlight. What a bright scene ! how 
full of interest to every one except to me! 

^Now, Olga,’ observed Aunt Catherine, in the same brisk 
voice, ^you shall sit down on that nice shady seat while I see 
after our luggage — you are not fit for the bustle of a Douane, 
and I am perfectly accustomed to manage for myself. No 
one v/ill interfere with you, you will find plenty of amuse- 
ment, and Kollo will take care of you ; ’ and I gladly took her 
advice. 

The giddiness was passing off now, and I began to feel less 
miserable; in a little while I was looking about me with the 


JjA MAmONNETTE. 


97 


keen delight of an inexperienced trayeiler. EY&rj minute I 
saw something to attract my attention; no'w it Was a group 
of watermen in their blue blouses, gesticulating and taking 
vvith French vivacity; then a bonne, in her white cap, with 
some oddly-dressed children; a priest, in shovel hat and 
cassock; a little shrivelled Sister of Mercy, in a white hood 
and gray habit. A sudden tinkling of bells; a miller’s cart 
slowly rumbles along the quay; the driver in his blue blouse 
cracks his long whip; the horses are gay with their blue 
sheepskins and bells — under the bright sunshine everything 
looks full of color. Two more priests, one old and gray, the 
other young and solemn -looking, pass me, reading their bre- 
viaries, and an old peasant woman, in a long black cloak, with 
a basket of onions and carrots, meets them. The old priest 
lifts his hat with a kindly air. ^ Bon jour, Madame Grenier! ^ 
he says, with a kindly reverence. The toothless old creature 
mumbles out something in a shrill voice; she has a brown 
weazen face, and looks a hundred, at least ; some soldiers with 
blue trousers and red shoulder-knots pass, and point her out 
to each other; then they laugh and nudge each other, and 
say something about his reverence and the little mother of 
the big Pierre. So these are French soldiers, I say to myself; 
these Sapper little figures with odd monkey-like faces, and 
the big pointed moustaches. How they strut along the quay 
— ^these fine fellows — ^as though they could conquer the world ! 
The younger priest has walked on, still absorbed in his bre- 
viary; but Madame Grenier talks on in shrill quavering 
accents, and the old priest listens good-humoredly; she is 
telling a long story, but it is not easy to understand her dia- 
lect — the name Pierre comes in frequently. Has she ever 
been young, this Madame Grenier ? It must bo terrible to 
grow like that! At this point in my reflections. Aunt Cath- 
erine interrupted me. 

‘I am ready how, Olga/ she said; 'the luggage is on the 
fiacre ; it is rather a long drive to La Maisonnette, but I seo 
you are better.' I noticed that she gave the old priest a 
searching look as we passed him. ' If it should be P^re 
Lefevre!' she whispered in my ear. Another crack of tho 
whip, and we were off, down a long road that skirted the 
quay. It was some time before we lost sight of the sea. The 
lean little horses did their work famously, but presently their 
speed slackened, as we entered a long narrow street with shops 
on each side. 'We have left St. Genette, Olga, explained 
Aunt Catherine; 'this is really St. Croix. You must see St. 
Genette properly to-morrow; some of the streets are so quaint. 


98 


THE HMAECH FOR BASIL LYEDHURST, 


It is such an interesting place — especially to artists. This 
street is comparatively common-place, but the shops are ex- 
cellent. Look I there is the market, but the stalls are half 
enyjty. Do you see that old woman with the gold earrings ? ’ 

I was thoroughly interested by this time. After a few 
minutes we turned into a wide road planted with trees, up 
and down which some boiines and children were strolling. 
By-and-by we came to a large figure of the Christ hanging 
on the cross. How lonely and pathetic it looked in that wide 
place ! We passed some large houses set in gardens after this ; 
then the road grew more countrified. We drove down lanes 
with cornfields on one side; strange to say, the cornfields were 
also orchards. All ait once we stopped before a big brown 
gate shaded by large sycamore ; a barn was on one side. The 
driver pulled a bell that sounded a hoarse loud peal ; the next 
moment we heard footsteps, and a young woman with an 
oddly-shaped coif and a droll good-humored face threw open 
the gate with voluble welcome. 

^Madame and the young demoiselle were welcome; they 
must be much fatigued, and must refresh themselves at once. 
She and Jules woul4 see to fche luggage. The horses would 
take care of themselves. Would madame enter the house 
in a shrill, high-pitched voice. 

We were standing in a wide courtyard. Before us was a 
good-sized house, plastered with yellowish stucco, with great 
brown shutters — jalousies, I suppose they call them — to every 
window.- The sun was blazing now, for it was mid-day, so 
Aunt Catherine was glad to take refuge in the house. The 
doors all stood open. Hollo-, who had preceded us, stood 
wagging his tail in some perplexity. 

^ Out of the way, old fellow. This is the salon, Olga ! ^ 
exclaimed Aunt Catherine; and I followed her into a pleasant 
room, very nicely furnished, and deliciously cool, with one 
big window looking on the lawn and courtyard, and the other 
on the garden. I opened the blind and peeped out, and my 
exclamation brought Aunt Catherine to my side in a moment 

I had never seen such a garden. It was full of big trees, 
and resembled a miniature wood. At the end was a little 
gi’ove; a broad gravel walk led -to it. On one side was a tiny 
lawn, on the other a confused pattern of oddly-shaped beds, 
with paths round them. The whole garden gave one a de- 
lightful impression of shady coolness and luxuriant foliage. 

‘ Very pleasant in summer, but decidedly unwholesome in 
winter,^ observed Aunt Catherine. "^No wonder the place did 
not agree with Mrs. Milner. What a pretty room this is, Olga 


LA MAISONNETTE. 


99 


— 18 it not? There is Jeanne carrying in our rugs,^ I sup- 
pose the salle-d-manger is opposite. Let us explore. Does 
it not seem strange, taking possession of the whole house in 
this fashion? Look at Rollo poking his nose almost every- 
where; I am sure he enjoys the fun as much as we do.' 

The salle-d manager was a large bare looking room, one end 
line with cupboards, and with an astonishing number of doors. 
There was a door into the passage, and a door into a dark, 
fusty little kitchen, a glass-door opening on the courtyard, 
and another opposite it leading into the garden. A small 
window by the fireplace gave additional light. A hen and 
some chickens were clucking on the door-step in anticipation 
of a meal, which the wliite cloth and cups and saucers seemed 
to warrant. 

* Oh, Aunt Catherine, how deliciously cool this room is! but 
it is far too big for comfort. What a long table just for us 
two!' • 

‘ The coffee is ready, and shall be served ' returned Jeanne, 
coming in at this moment. ‘ Perhaps madame Would dismiss 
Jules, and give him his due. She and the demoiselle must be 
famished after such a journey. Would mademoiselle prefer 
a cup of English tea? Madame always took it for her dejeu- 
ner. Strong tea with a slice of lemon would be refreshing, 
or caf 6 au lait.' 

I pronounced in favor of a cup of English tea; Aunt Cath- 
erine chose cafe au lait. 

-More bustle, and stamping of sabots across the brick 
floor, then Jeanne marches in triumphantly, bearing a largo 
coffee-pot in one hand and a little brown teapot in the other; 
a pile of toast follows, then eggs, and some slices of curious- 
looking meat, a bowl of salad, some plums, a glass-jug of 
cold water. Rollo watched Jeanne's movements attentively. 
Ho was a dog of sagacity, and always knew his friends. 
Jeanne was not handsome; she had a turned -up nose; she 
wore a singular cap; she talked gibberish; stilPRollo decided 
she was a person to whom he might show respect. In proof 
of this he sat up before her solemnly and tendered her a paw 
— ^a signal- that he was growing hungry. 

Jeanne uttered a faint shriek, and wrapped her hands in 
her apron; she pronounced him un bete effroyable — he was 
ill-conditioned, terrible, a monster to be feared; regardless of 
all these compliments, Rollo still sat and proffered his paw 
in the most friendly fashion. 

Jeanne giggled and fairly fled to her kitchen, and we could 
hear her high-pitched voice out in the courtyard. 


100 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LTHDHURST. 


*Mrs. Muner sa,ys Jeanne is an excellent servant/ observed 
Aunt Catherine, as she poured out my tea; ‘she is a most 
faithful creature. I wish you did not look so pale, Olga, but 
tea and toast will just suiu you. I did not make a bad break- 
fast on board, but I mean to try some of that stuffed veal. 
You must Jie down and get a nap, while I unpack and writo 
to Virginia.’ 

I w^as glad to take this advice presently. There was only 
one good-sized bedroom which I at once decided must be for 
Aunt Catherine. The other rooms were rather small and 
barely furnished; an uncarpeted passage led to them. After 
a few moments’ hesitation, I chose a long, narrow room next 
to Aunt Catherine’s; it was furnished with the utmost sim- 
plicity— a little French bedstead in one corner, a painted 
washstand and chest of drawers, with an oval glass in a black 
frame hanging over it. There was a door of communication 
with a still smaller room; a chintz curtain hung over it. The 
floor was polished, and a little strip of carpet was beside the 
bed. The window was wide open : down below was the shady 
garden, with the little grove, looking more like some wood- 
land glade in its depth of delicious coolness; it was so strange- 
ly silent, too — only the humming of bees, as they hovered 
over the quaint flowerbeds, broke the stillness, or the occa- 
sional click of Jeanne’s sabots across the courtyard. Aunt 
Catherine came in and closed the great brown shutters for 
me; then she shook up the snowy pillow, and left me to my 
siesta. It was late in the afternoon when I was awakened by 
Kollo laying his big black paw on my arm; he looked in my face 
with a whine, as though remonstrating with me on my un- 
usual laziness. J ©anne was standing by me with a little tray 
with a cup of coffee and some crisp-looking cracknels on a 
white-fringed napkin; she deposited it on the bed, and then, 
putting her hands .on her hips, regarded me with a benevo- 
lent grin. 

‘La jeune 'demoiselle had slept well — bien! The great 
dog. Monsieur Kollo — was not that his name? — had been con- 
templating the door for hours; he had been.triste, inconsol- 
able, without his mistress. Where was madame ? she had 
gone to recruit herself with a walk — she was a person of 
energy. She had left word that the jeune demoiselle — 
Meess — Meess Olga — oh, the droll little name I — should re- 
pose herself: the day was long enough for amusement. Would 
it be possible to assist mademoiselle ? no — then she, Jeanne, 
would return to her devoirs; there was water to draw from 
jthe well, and she must fetch eggs and butter from the farm. 


LA MAISOimETTK 


aoi 

Would the young English Meess be afraid to be left in the" 
house with the big dog, Monsieur Rollo ? ' 

I dismissed Jeanne with the assurance that I should not be 
afraid, and then jumped up and unpacked with the utmost 
despatch, while Rollo lay with his nose between his paws and 
watched me. When I had finished I took- my hat and went 
out in the passage; the open window tempted me, and I 
stood for some minutes looking out on the courtyard and barn 
and the brown gate shaded by the huge sycamore. How still 
and peaceful it looked in the evening light! I felt as though 
i were in some enchanted place; it was all so strange and un- 
home-like, as though I were dreaming, and must wake up pres- 
ently and find myself back at Fircroft. Jeanne must have 
gone to the farm; I peeped into the empty kitchen, where 
only a black kitten was warming herself beside the closed 
stove, and then went out into the garden. I directed my 
steps involuntarily to the little grove; there were some wicker 
chairs and a table, and a hammock sv/inging between two 
trees; a little gate led into a kitchen-garden full of fruit trees. 
A sort of curiosity induced me to unlatch the gate and walk 
doTyn'the narrow, grass-grown path; there seemed a sort of 
building at the end, that looked like a stable or a barn, I could 
not guess which ; a dilapidated flight of steps led to the upper 
story — was it inhabited ? for there was a white curtain flutter- 
ing at an open window — the next instant I caught sight of a 
dark masculine profile, and turned hastily away. Perhaps, 
after all, it was a barn, and that was the farmer himself. I 
was intruding — most likely the kitchen garden belonged to 
the farm and not to La Maisonnette. I was glad to close the 
gate behind me, and to find myself in our own garden. 

I wondered where Aunt Catherine had gone, and as I heard 
Jeanne’s sabots in the distance, I determined to go a little 
way down the lane; but as I opened the gate I found her 
standing outside; she had her old brown garden hat on. 

^ I was just wishing for you, Olga,’ she said brightly. 
wanted to show you the extensive domains that belong to our 
landlord. I have been talking to him — his name is Monsieur 
Perrot, and he lives at the farm close by. He seems an 
honest old fellow. That lane leads right down to the bay; 
but I want to show you the view from the cliS first. We 
may regard this as our private grounds — so Monsieur Perrot 
tells me. Ho one but his lodger ever comes here, so we shall 
be quite undisturbed.’ 

So saying, she opened a little gate, and we found ourselves 
in a cornfield full of apple-trees. Then we came to a green 


102 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 

place Tvitli some beautiful fir-trees, overlooking the lane. 
Across the road were the grounds of a chateau, with a small 
lake surrounded by trees, and a boat moored to the bank. 
The water had a strange greenish hue, as though from the 
filtering of sunshine through leaves; it had a solitary, deserted 
look, as though no human footstep ever broke the stillness,' 
or trod on the grassy paths. 

^That is the Chateau de Clairville,^ observed Aunt Cath- 
erine. ^It belongs to the Delaincourts, but they are in Paris 
at present. Mrs. Milndr told me a sad story about them once. 
The eldest son, then a fine boy of eleven or twelve, w;is 
drowned in that very lake. A schoolfellow upset the boat, 
and Gaston could not swim. They say none of the family 
have ever looked at the lake since. It is probably the truth, 
for the boat seems falling to pieces through age and disuse. 
Madame Delaincourt has taken a dislike to the chateau, and 
they live most of the year in Paris.^ 

* It looks like the scene of a tragedy,^ I returned, with a shud- 
der. ^How weird and uncanny it must look by moonlight. 
Let us go and-: — — Why, there is acj;ually heather I What 
a pretty, wild place ! ^ 

^Yes; is it not? This is the cliff; and if we follow this 
little winding path, we shall come to the steps that lead* 
down to the bathing-house. Is this not curious, Olga — this 
mingling of cornfields, orchards, fir-trees, and heather-covered 
cliffs ! Now you can see the bay — what do you think of that ? ’ 

I was silent from sheer admiration of the beautiful scene 
before me. Below us lay the yellow sands, with piles of 
amber-colored seaweed, and beyond the blue waters of the; 
bay, shimmering in the .golden siyilight, and studded with 
rocky islets; across the bay wooded promontories, and tlie 
white gleam of buildings from the gay little seaport town of 
Nanterre; while to our left were the picturesque brinks that 
skirted the river Liore — cliffs, sands, and the red and white 
sails of numberless boats, all steeped in the pure radiant light, 
of early evening. 

^Aunt Catherine, this is paradise ! * 

^An earthly paradise; but you are right — it is very beauti- 
ful. The sunsets are wonderful here;, indeed, the glow of 
coloring is peculiarly foreign. I have seen the bay as in- 
tensely blue as the Mediterranean. Look to your right, Olga : 
that is the fashionable bathing-place of St. Croix, and across 
those cliffs there is the cemetery and the Hospital de St. 
Pierre. We shall pass both on our way to the English 
Church. Further on is St. Gen^tte, and those massive tWW 


£A MAmONNBTTE. 


103 


belong to St. Dominique — that is where they kept the English 
prisoners. When we cross to Nanterre, we shall have to start 
from St. Dominique — it is only twenty jninutes across the 
bay.’ 

I listened to Aunt Catherine with interest and tried to 
follow her outstretched finger, as she pointed but one object 
after another; but I could only give a aivided attention. My 
own senses seemed steeped in beauty. "We were on the 
farthest point of the cliff; no one was in sight; the only signs 
of human life were the little boats rocking in the sunlight. 
One could dimly discern a red* or blue cap belonging to some 
■fisherman. We were seated on the heather, and the long 
slow wash of the waves was the only sound that reached our 
ears; except, once, the distant clanging of a bell on the cliff. 

^Are you cold? Why do you shiver, Olga? There is 
scarcely a breath of air; it has been a hot day, so Monsieqr 
Perrot tell me.’ 

No, I am not cold.’ 

But in spite of my words mother irrepressible shiver passed 
through me. I had a strange indescribable sensation as 
though something were going to happen, as, though some 
subtle spirit of change stood by me to interpret the future. 
Why had I come there? Would it not have been better for 
me to have remained at home ? Something to this effect 
seemed to pass through my mind with a strange nervous ac- 
companiment of dread. I had never experienced such a feel- 
ing before. 

^Are you sure there is nothing the matter, Olga?’ 

* No; but I believe I am tired,’ and I stood up and stretched 
myself a little w’’earily. 

‘ Let us go back to the house then,’ returned Aunt Cath- 
erine kindly. ^Jeanne will ha'x prepared our supper by this 
time, and when you have had it you shall go to bed. Come, 
child, come ! ’ 

But I followed her unwillingly. Once I looked back; the 
sky was tinged with a rosy hue; the bay v/as transfigured; the 
little fleet of fishing smacks looked like fairy boats; the op-, 
posite shore was bathed in the glow of the setting sun. 

^ I am glad I have come across the seas to look at this,’ I 
said to myself; and then aloud, ^Aunt Catherine, we must 
always come here in the evening. I shall christen this lovely 
spot Sefton Point.” ’ 


104 THB HE ARCH FOR BAHIL LYNBIIURHT. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A MIDDLE-AGED ROMAKCE. 

‘ Thou goest,’ she said, ‘ and ne’er agait 
Must we two meet in joy or pain. 

* Bridal of Tnermain, 

‘ They part, 

Each with, a grieved and anxious heart.* 

Berkeley. 

A niglit of sound sleep perfectly restored me. When we 
met at breakfast. Aunt Catherine declared herself to be quite 
satisfied with my looks. It was a lovely morning; the air 
felt light and buoyant, tjje spacious saile-a-manger looked 
cool and bare as I entered it. There was a pleasant flicker 
of green leaves against the glass-door that led into the court- 
yard. A faint breeze stirred the huge branches of the syca- 
more. Rollo lay stretched out on the stone step watching a 
hen and her chickens scratching in the dust. A fragrant 
smell of coffee came from the kitchen. A great pile of brown 
toast was on the table. Aunt Catherine came in from the 
garden with a bunch of roses wdth the dew still on them. 

^ Have you slept well, my dear ? but I need not ask, you 
look as bright as the nmrning itself. "Vow I shall venture to 
propose a little plan for the morning. We will take a fiacre 
and drive down to St. Genette; it is too hot to walk all that 
distance. After we have looked about us a little, we will go 
to St. Sulpice. You will not mind my leaving you alone for 
a little while, Olga, while I call on Monsieur Lefevre ? * 

^ You are going this morning?^ in some surprise. 

/Aunt Catherine smiled. 

^ Procrastination was never one of my faults. What is the 
use of putting off for to-morrow the duty that heloligs to 
to-day ? I am too good a business-woman to cheat my con- 
science in that way. I have come all this distance to see 
Pere Lefevre, and 1 do not mean to lose a moment before I 
call on him. We must think of poor Virginia.' 

/Yes; of course.' 

But I was a little sorry that Aunt Catherine would not 
give up one day to pure enjoyment; it was such a delicious 


A MIDDLE-AGED DOMAECE 


105 


morning. I should have liked to have spent it on the gandsj 
or on Sefton Point; but I would not have told T^er so for 
worlds. 

An hour afterward we were driving toward St. Genette, 
and my brief discontent was soon forgotten at the sight of 
the beautiful old town, with its narrow picturesque streets, 
and its quaint houses with their peaked roofs and overhang- 
ing eaves and wide casements, over which towered the steeple 
of St. Sulpice. I felt as though I Were transported back to 
mediaeval days, as though I had seen those old streets in some 
dream of the past. What coloring, what harmony of tints in 
the soft grajs and yellows, the dull red roofs, the narrov/ 
breadth of sky above, so deeply, intensely blue, the clear sun- 
shine 1 And then the gay medley of passers-by —white-capped 
bonnes, soldiers in red and blue, sisters of charity in their 
hoods u,nd gray and black habits, sombre-looking priests, 
peasant women with massive silver earrings reposing against 
their brown, shrivelled cheeks, and little black bead-like eyes 
roving everywhere. From end to end of the quaint old town 
we drove, and every moment wo came upon some picturesque 
group, some combination of effect and coloring to excite oiir 
admiration. Now it was some snow-white pigeons settling on 
^ red-peaked roof, now a heavy cart with gray horses ambling 
al6ng under their gay adornment of blue sheepskin and bells, 
then a donkey with pannier, a dark-eyed girl with gold ear- 
rings walking beside it, a brownt-faced babv in a close cap 
peeping out of each pannier. 

All at once we left the narrow streets behind and crossed a 
place with sycamores and seats under them. Some soldiers 
were drinking and smoking under the awning of a restaurant. 
A band was playing the distance, some children were dancing, 
while their bonnes chatted and l^nitted on the benches. \ 
quick turn, and I uttered an exclamation of delight: before 
us was the' open sea. .The waves were rolling in upon the 
shore; the sun w'as shining, there was a great stretch of yellow 
sands: gay little cabanes of blue and white** striped canvas 
seemed dotted about everywhere; oddly dressed figures 
emerged from them, and ran with little ri~ples of laughter 
into the sea. The children were wading knee-deep in the 
pools; ladies were working, gossiping, v/atching the bathers; 
the band was playing dancing music; there were colored 
minstrels, conjurers, an old man with an organ and a melan- 
choly-eyed monkey. The old man played a dreary tune, the 
monkey jumped and clutched its little red cap. Some soldiers 
were watching it. Everywhere life, movement, children'’3 


106 


THE BE ARCH FOR BASIL LYEDHURST. 


voices, laughter, and the yellow sunshine pouring down on 
the gray old buildings and rocky island, and on the happy 
human groups. I could have stayed there for hours; but 
Jules had his orders, and ^fter a few minutes he had cracked 
his whip again, and the lean little horses were carrying us 
back into the narrow streets. We vrere descending a some- 
what steep one. The houses were poorer and more crowded. 
In another moiAent we were at the door of St. Sulpice. 

What a change from the busy streets to the dark scented 
stillness within. An old peasant woman was hobbling in 
before us. She took seme holy water and crossed herself, 
and looked at us rebukingly as we passed her. 

How” vast and mysterious it all looked — the lamps swinging 
before the high altar, the stacks of empty chairs, the side 
chapels and shrines, with dark figures kneeling here and there, 
the strange, penetrating perfume of incense. 

* I will leave you now, Olga,^ whispered Aunt Catherine ; 
there is much that will interest you. You can go round and 
look at everything; no one will disturb you.^ 

I felt as though I were in some dream as I heard the great 
door close a.fter her. The utter stillness, the gleam from the 
di5erent shrines, seemed to wrap me round with mystery. 
Everywhere was repeated the same solemn story — hero the 
Madonna and the calm-eyed Babe, there the Mater Dolorosa 
and the Divine Sufferer on the cross — simple, majestic, un- 
complaining; in all ages a spectacle to men and angels. 

I grew weary of wandering about presently, and seated my- 
self before a little chapel, with an image of a grave, benevo- 
lent St. Joseph, and the Holy Child beside him. An old 
fisherman was kneeling before it; bis gray head was bowed in 
bis hands. A little farther off was the old peasant woman 
who had preceded us, and a lady v/ith a long black veil. Now 
and then some poiseless figure glided from behind the high 
altar and knelt down silently. The hushed fragrant atmo- 
sphere seemed full of those.imisoless prayers. 

^It is good tefbe here,^ I thought; ^here thousands of wor- 
shippers, rich and poor, learned and ignorant, have brought 
their cares and sorrows, their penitential petitions, their 
praises, to the throne of Divine Grace. In England the churches 
are empty, swept and garnished for the Sunday services. 
No sons and daughters of toil ever creep into those spotless 
edifices on week-days to offer up a prayer, a thanksgiving for 
some blessing received. Are the poor of St. Genette more 
pious ? Whose fault is it that our churches are not homes 
for cur working people 


A MIJDBLE-AGED ROMAITCE, 


107 


I was so absorbed by these reflections that Aunt Catherine’ 
return quite startled me, I had not expected her so soon 
She looked pale and weary, and as soon as we were outsid 
she said with a sigh : 

‘ We shall have to be patient Olga. I encountered an un- 
expected diflaculty. Monsieur Lefevre left St. Croix thij 
morning. He has been summoned to a brother’s death-bed 
and is- not expected back for a week or two. I saw his old 
housekeeper, but she could give me no information. Hei 
master was a holy man, she said, and was always attending 
the sick and dying. never spared himself • if his peopk 
needed him. Some of the other Fathers knew how to save 
themselves trouble, but not Pere Lefevre.’ 

‘ Oh, Aunt Catherine, v/hat a disappointment ! ’ 

‘ Yes, it is very trying. Virginia will be so cast down by 
the delay. If I thought it would be any good, I would follow 
him to Paris; but how can one intrude at such a time ? He 
will come back, she says, as soon as his brother is buried; 
^nd I fear we must wait for that.’ 

But though. Aunt Catherine said no more, I could see that 
she was much troubled. 

We w'ere tired with our busy morning, so, after dinner. 
Aunt Catherine proposed that we should* take our books and 
walk to the little grove, as 1 persisted in calling it. 

^Jeanne says it is always cool there on the hottest days; 
and she has promised to bring us some coffee presently. In 
the evening w^e can stroll to your favorite point.’ 

As I approved of this plan, we v/ere soon comfortably en- 
sconced, Aunt Catherine in an old-fashioned armchair, and I 
in the hammock. We were both indisposed for conversation 
at first — Aunt Catherine had a book, and I was content to lie 
in the hammock and listen to the birds twittering among the 
leaves over my head, and think of Jem — it was so pleasant 
and peaceful. As I swung to and fro, I could see the little 
grass-grown path I had explored yesterday, between the 
apple-trees. Some one was walking among the cabbages, for 
I could catch sight of a blue blouse in the distance. The 
sun was blazing on the yellow stucco v/alls of the house ; the 
brown shutters were closed. Jeanne was going to and fro 
between the well and the court-yard — I could hear her shrill 
voice speaking to some one ; the black kitten was chasing a 
white butterfly across the lawn, springing up into the air and 
then suddenly wheeling round in pursuit of its own tail ; a great 
brown bee settled on a rose-bush close to us. ^ What a beauti- 
Cul world this is,’ I thought as I floated off into a day-dream. 


108 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 


Aunt Catherine read steadily all the afternoon, but I no- 
ticed that now and then a sigh escaped, her; but she did not 
talk freely until we had taken our coffee, and were sauntering 
toward the cliff. When we had seated ourselves, and had 
exhausted our rapturous exclamations at the beauty of the 
evening, and of the bay below us, she said rather suddenly: — 
^ Olga, you do not know how I have set my heart on finding 
Basil.^ 

I had been watching some barefooted boys, with closely- 
cropped heads and ragged trousers, who were collecting sea- 
weed on the shore, but as she spoke, I looked up in some sur- 
prise. 

shall be bitterly disappointed if we fail to discover any 
traces of him. I hope I am not too sanguine, but I am hoping 

f reat results from my interview with Fere Lefevre. Surely 
'aul Lyndhurst wilf have spoken of his son on his death- 
bed.^ 

^If — if he be still alive,^ I. replied; but Aunt Catherine 
looked a little distressed at my remark. 

‘Who put that doubt in your head, Olga? Why should 
not Basil bo alive ? Virginia always says he was a strong, 
healthy child. It would be a cruel disappointment to me as 
well as to his mother, if your supposition were true. If Basil 
be dead, we have no heir."^ 

I was- silent, for just then Huberts foolish speech came 
into my head* I felt myself color with annoyance. That 
was the worst of hearing such speeches, they could not be 
forgotten. But Aunt Catherine did not notice my slight em- 
barassment; she was following out her own line of thought. 

‘ It is BO sad that we have no one belonging to us — no , one 
to take interest in the place, and to cherish us in our old age. 
Virginia’s son would have been so dear to me. I should have 
been as proud of him as though I had been his mother. 
Sometimes I look at Jem — we are both very fond of him — 
but he is not a Sef ton : our blood does not flow in his veins — 
he is not one of us.’ 

j ‘ I see what you mean. Aunt Catherine.’ 

‘It is our ov/n that we want, our own flesh and blood. If I 
could only find Basil, and say to him, “ I am your mother’s 
sister, but you shall be like my own son ; com.e home with 
me, and I will show you your other. If you will be patient 
and not mind the society of two homely women, we will teach 
you the old traditions, the family histories. You shall know 
your ancestors b}’ name, you shall be one of us.” This is 
what I am always saying to the imaginary Basil; and/ with 


A MIDDLE-AGED ROMANCE. 


109 


ft little Bmile, ^ he always puts his hand in mine, and says 
frankly, I will go home with you/^ ^ 

I had never heard Aunt Catherine speak like this before. 
There was a yearning sound in her voice, and a misty look in 
her gray eyes that spoke of unfulfilled longing. 

‘ If you had only married I ’ I exclaimed involuntarily. 

She started, and a faint blush came to her cheek. 

^ You mean, if I had married I might have had a son of 
my own — perhaps sons and daughters, who knows ? That is 
what one misses when one grows old. That is why I think 
so much of Basil, because I have no one else belonging to 
me.^ 

‘ But, Aunt Catherine’ — ^hesitating, for I feared to displease 
her — ^ surely you could have married over and over again if 
you had liked.’ 

^ One only wants to marry once, Olga,’ smiling as though 
my speech amused her. ^After all, there is only one man a 
woman can bring herself to marry.’ 

^ Whom do you mean ? ’ — in some perplexity. 

‘ I mean, of course, the man she loves. Doesn’t that go 
without saying ? ’ 

‘Yes, of course; but — no, you will think me impertinent. 
I will not ask such a question.’ 

‘ Your eyes ask it instead. Yes, there was some one whom 
I could have married.’ 

‘And for whose sake you have remained single — oh. Aunt 
Catherine!’ 

‘You question rather closely, little one; but never mind, 
it is a very old story ; it does not give me pain now. When I 
was your age, Olga, I was thrown almost daily into the society 
of some one who seemed to me better and nobler than any 
one else. I never knew any one so absolutely true. He re- 
minded me of Nathaniel, for he was without guile. Young 
as I was, I soon understood that he had a higher standard of 
right and wrong than most men.’ 

‘ Will, you tell me a little more about him ? — creeping closer 
:to her as I spoke, for there was a shadow on the dear face. 

‘Don’t you think it is rather . foolish of a middle-aged 
woman to tell her love-story to a girl ? Well, if you will hear 

it ^ But there is nothing much to' tell. Other women 

would have forgotten it long ago — would have loved again, 
and have married ; but it was never possible to me.’ 

‘ Did you care for him so much ? ’ 

‘How could I help it, knowing what he was? And then 
ho was so good to me. I should have grown up frivolous and 


110 THE SEARCH FOR BA^IL LYNDHURBT. 


pleasure-loving but for him. Everyfcliing I have i owe to 
him. It is strange to think that any one so young should 
have had such an influence. He was not so many years older 
than I was. He was only in deacon’s orders when he first 
came to Brookfield.’ 

^ I had no idea he was a clergyman. Do you mind telling 
me his name, and — and was he very attractive -looking ? ’ 

Aunt Catherine smiled at the feminine question. 

' That is so like a girl, Olga! His name is Kobert Fleming. 
Ho, he was not handsome; on the contra:*/, he was plain — 
but it was a face one could trust at once. 1 used to think it 
beautiful when he was preaching. My father was always 
hospitable to the clergy. Mr. Fleming used to dine at the 
Hall once or twice a week. He was a clever and amusing 
companion, and his conversation was -always agreeable to my 
father. After a time he volunteered to teach me Latin and 
botany, and then we were always together. Was it any won- 
der, then, that we grew to care too much for each other ? 
Surely the blame was not ours ? I can only marvel at the 
blindness of my father and Virginia; but no one suspected 
anything until too late. I think that year was the happiest 
of my life. Every day brought new pleasure. I never asked 
myself the reason v/hy I took life so joyously. I was young, 
and the v/orld was very beautiful, and Eobert was good to me. 

^ But one day the revelation came. In an unguarded mo- 
ment, v/hen we were alone, the truth came out. Eobert loved 
me too much for his own peace of mind ; either he must leave 
Brookfield, or I must give him hope that his feelings were 
returned. I do not need to tell you, Olga, that my whole 
heart belonged to him. I owned my aflection frankly, and 
for one day at least we were happy. 

remember that night I could hardly sleep for ■’oy. I lay 
hour after hour recalling his looks and words. I seemed to 
ask no more of life than Eobert’s love, and to feel that we 
belonged to each other. But my happiness was short-lived. 
When I saw him again he looked worn and harassed. To my 
dismay I found that he was blaming himself severely for his 
imprudent confession. Your father will have a right to re- 
proach me for my dishonorable conduct, Catherine,” he said 
sorrowfully. ^^I ought not to have betrayed my .feelings. 
There is only one course open to me. As a gentleman, I 
must at once acquaint him with what has happened.” And 
in spite of my entreaties and tears — for I feared to lose him 
— he sought at once an interview with my father. 

* I need not tell you the result : rny father was bitterly 


A MIDDLE-AGED ROMANCE. 


Ill 


angry with us both; Robert was forbidden the house, and I 
was reproved most harshly and cruelly for my imdignitled 
behavior in encouraging a poor curate. In vain I protested 
that I. loved him dearly, that I would never marry ^any man 
but Robert Fleming. My father simply refused to near a 
word. We were ordered to pack up at once and leave the 
Hall — we were to go abroad, and remain there aa long as 
Robert was at Brookfield. Olga, it was only through Vir- 
ginians connivance that I bade Robert good-by. It was a 
bitterly sad parting: neither of us had any hope. 

‘ I am a poor man, Catherine,” he said to me; ^^my people 
are comparatively humble folk. I have no interest, I cannot 
expect success in this life — I shall never be able to win you — 
the prize is not for me — I am justly punished for having 
dared to love you.” And those were almost his last words to 
me.’ 

^ Do you mean you have never seen him since ? ^ 

^ Never, Olga, except at a distance. Robert Fleming and I 
parted that summer morning forever in this woild. We 
went, to Rome, and before our return he had left JBrookfield; 
and the only thing I heard was, that he had been ill, and that an 
uncle had taken him abroad. If we suffered, my poor father 
had his punishment too. To save me from marrying the best 
man in the world, he took us to the place where poor Virginia 
met her wretched husband. But for this she might have been 
a bappy woman now.’ 

^And you have never heard of him ? ’ 

^ Not until my father’s death, a good many years afterv/ard; 
and then a casual acquaintance we met at some watering-place 
mentioned his name. He had a curacy at Leeds, and was 
working in a very poor parish. She told me the name of his 
church, and a year or two afterward, when I was within a 
few miles of the place, I went pne evening in the hope of 
hearing him preach.’ 

^Did you really? Oh, Aunt Catherine, hut did he not 
recognize you ? ’ 

‘ He could not, for I had a thick veil, and sat at the end of' 
the church. But I could see him distinctly; he looked older 
and thinner, and stooped a good deal, but it was the same 
good, kind face. And his sermon was beautiful; it strength- 
ened me for a long time.’ 

‘ But v/hy — ^why has he never come to you ? Is he married ? ’ 

‘No, he has never married, but that is all I know about 
him. I have never expected him to come. He is still a 
curate, and I am a rich woman, and belong to a county family,, 


112 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYEDHURST. 


besides. How can I tell ? he may hare forgotten me — a man ; 
is different to a woman.^ 

* But you have many friends — grand, influential ones ; could ' 
you not have helped him secretly to a better position 

^ What a little plotter you are, Olga. How do you know 
that I have not tried ? More than one living has been offered 
to Mr. Fleming — comfortable country livings ; but he cannot j 
bo persuaded to leave his curacy. They say he is doing a 
great work there, a very great work/ i 

‘ Why do you look like that, Aunt Catherine ? you are keep- ; 
ing something back.^ 

‘Oh, it is nothing,^ she said, with her pretty middle-aged^ 
blush; ‘only I like to think I help him in that work. From,' 
time to time the curate of St. Markus receives a sum of money i 
from one who signs herself, “The Friend of the Poor." He I 
has never seen the handwriting — the world is full of these 
shy philanthropists. Of course, he takes the money and is 
thankful, and asks no questions/ 

‘ Dear — dear Aunt Catherine, that is so like you.^ 

‘ But it is not like me to romance after this fashion ; you j 
are a little witch, Olga, to coax this story from me. Shall we 
call it the Old Maid’s Secret ? ' 

‘ Don’t call yourself names; you are as nice now as you ever 
have been. Jem and I have always admired jou so; you are 
not a bit old — there is not a gray hair on your head/ ; 

‘Iwill show you hundreds to-morrow. Come, do not let 
us talk so foolishly. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in 
Providence — what is, is best. One day, when our work is' 
done, Eobert Fleming and I shall meet again. I can waiti 
happily till then/ ^ 

‘And this is why you have never married ? ’ , 

‘Well, you would not have me content with the second 
best ? — -there was only one Robert Fleming. Now, never let 
us speak of this again. Let me give you one piece of advice 
— you are young enough to need it: make greater allowances' 
for the so-called old maids; poor things, they ar^ often dull 
and uninteresting, and' have odd, fussy ways, but you do not 
know what trouble and pain may be in their past. Many of 
them have young and faithful hearts in spite of their wrinkles., 
There, I have preached my little sermon,’ and as Aunt Cath» 
erine said this she rose from her seat, and we went back under 
the firs and across the cornfield to La Maisonnette. 


THE PAVILION IN THE GARPEN 


113 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PAVILIOK THE GARDEH. 

* Then saunter down the terrace, where the sea. 

All fair with wing-like sails, you may discern ; 

Be glad, and say, “This beauty is for me — 

A thing to love and learn.” * 

Jean Ingelow. 

The next few days passed pleasantly. Aunt Catherine was 
a delightful companion. With her usual unseir.shness she 
put her own cares and anxieties aside, and only thought how 
she could add to my enjoyment. The weather was lovely; 
every morning the bright sunshine woke me; and as I be- 
grudged every moment spent indoors^ we were out from 
morning to evening. As soon as our early breakfast was 
over, and Aunt Catherine had settled down to write business 
letters, or talk ovey housekeeping matters with Jeanne, I used 
to put on my broad-brimmed hat and go down to the shore, ac- 
companied by my faithful Rollo. A steep little lane, with arch- 
ing trees overhead, and a high, fern-covered bank on one side, 
led down to the bay. The wall of the Chdteau de Clairvillo 
was on the other side; in the distance one could see the bluo 
waters of the bay. A little farther on was a pool, where the 
women washed their clothes. Often I came upon a little 
group chatte.-ing and laughing as they beat out tho linen on 
the stones. A rugged path led up the cliS to St. Croix. On 
Sunday we walked to the little English church, and passed i 
the tiny cemetery and the hospital. *As wo returned that 
evening a, glorious sunset was flushing the bay, and we stood, 
for a long time looking at the lovely scene. Below us was 
the quiet cemetery, with its black wooden crosses and wreaths 
of immortelles, and beyond lay the gleaming golden waters* 
The sun was just sinking in a mass of crimson clouds; the 
western sky seemed lit with strange radiance; the marvellous 
tints melted and glided into each other with prismatic bril- 
liancy; the deep red sail of a fishing-boat seemed to float be- 
tween earth and Sky; then came a snowy-white one; an in- 
describable hush and stillness seemed to brood over t'.j scene, 
as though some holy watcher stood above the quiet dead. A 
little beyond was the hospital; before it lay a green enclosure 


114 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST, 


with grass and trees, overlooking the bay. As we walked 
slowly past, we could see a group of sisters in their gray 
habits and white hoods sitting under the trees. . One of the 
sisters was reading aloud; as we paused a nioment, a tall, 
dark -eyed sister, with a beautiful face and the step of a queen, 
crossed the road and looked at us. The clear, kindly eyes 
lingered long in my memory. 

‘Aunt Catherine,^ I said softly, as we went down the cliff, 
‘ did you see that sister^s face ? She looked like a St. Cecilia.' 

‘T saw a very handsome nun,' replied Aunt Catherine dryly; 
‘depend upon it, she is quite human. Well, they are all good 
women, though not perhaps as grown-up as we are — but that 
is the fault of the system ; still,, theirs are noble lives, Olga, 
spent in ministering to the sick bodies and souls of their 
brothers and sisters. One might well envy them their use- 
fulness.' 

But for once I found Aunt Catherine's middle-aged philoso- 
phy damping — the inspired face and queenly gait of the 
grand-looking sister haunted me. I could fancy that face 
bending over the sick and dying, the pure saintly lips mur- 
muring consoling prayers. How worldly and unsatisfactory 
one's life looked beside hers ! how petty one's aims and plea- 
sures ! I looked back more than once at that quiet scene, the 
little band of hard-working women resting in the sunset, the 
one solitary voice breaking the stillpess. 

‘I can read your thoughts, Olga,' observed Aunt Catherine 
quietly; ‘you are envying those good sisters yonder; your 
young entnusiasm is casting a glamour over them, as usual. 
My dear, under those gray habits there beat very faulty human 
hearts ; they do not find it easier to be good than you and I ; 
they are -just brave, unselfish women, who have given up their 
lives to Christ and His poor, but they have their daily sink- 
ings of heart, their discouragements, as much as you or I ; 
their little world, bounded by those w^ls, is not more free 
from temptation than our wider one.' 

‘Yes, I know; but, still, it seems so peaceful and beautiful; 
and then that face I ' 

‘St. Cecilia's, you mean, I wonder if Jeanne can tell us 
anything about her; perhaps, after all, she is not more of a 
saint than that little shrivelled-up sister we saw on the cliff 
just now; in this world, alas! beauty and holiness are not 
synonymous terms.' 

But I was not to be convinced, and from that day I never 
passed the Hospital de St, Pierre without watching for the 
dark-eyed sister. 


THE PAVILION IN THE GARDEN 


115 


Our mornings were always spent on the shore — Aunt Cath- 
erine would join me when her business was finished; and we 
would choose a seat under the shelter of the rocks and watch 
the bathers and the children building their sand-castics. If 
the afternoons were hot we always sut in the, little grove, but 
now and then we drove into the country. Once Jules drove 
us to the little village of Lorette. We seemed to go on for 
miles, down long endless roads, past cornfields, orchards; 
then through one or two scattered hamlets. Now and then 
there were wider views, glimpses of the river, an expanse of 
country opening out before us; then the road seemed to close 
in again, and we would pass a solitary chateau. 

All at once we stopped, and Jules assisted ns to alight. 
We were in a tiny village; in the middle of the street was a 
life-sized figure of the Christ; an old woman was spinning in 
a doorway; a greup of handsome peasant girls, with snowy 
caps and long earrings, were chatting and laughing outside 
the little brown auberge; a" woman was carrying a green 
cruche to the well, in which, as we looked dov*rn, wo could 
see ferns growing out of the side. Just opposite was a gray 
church; another figure of the Christ was in the churchyard. 
As we entered the humble edifice we could see one or two 
women kneeling; a young priest was just leaving the altar; 
there was the usual smell of incense 

‘ Is not this an ideal village, Olga ? ^ observed Aunt Cather- 
ine. remember visiting it years ago — the women were 
threshing corn in the streets, the place seemed piled up with 
yellow straw; they were chanting some hymn to the Virgin; 
that old woman was spinning in her door then. Now we 
have a long drive back, and must not loiter, especially as 
Jules has taken enough cider.^ 

And she was right; it was dark before we stoppea at the 
big brown gate— Jeanne could not see our faces as she threw 
open the door. 

^Madame was late,^ she said in her shrill tones; Mt was 
Monsieur Eollo’s voice that she heard first : " Open to your 
friends, my good Jeanne,^^ that was what he said; ma foi! he 
was a dog of sagacity — of intelligence. La demoiselle must 
be tired above everything. Ah well, she, Jeaime, had lighted 
the lamp, and the little supper was all ready.^ 

Jeanne^s little suppers were alw^s very tempting after one 
of these expeditions; the big coffee-pot always graced the 
board, and the bowl of salad. The white china lamp made 
an oasis of light in the great bare room; the glass door stood 
open; gray moths dashed in from the darlmess, bent on 


116 THE mARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 

speedy destruction; in the stillness we could hear the faint 
Boughing of the trees. 

When supper was over, we betook ourselves to the snug 
salon; there were always letters to write— -to Jem, to Kitty, 
even a note to Hubert. We could hear Jeanne moving about, 
washing up dishes and talking to Kollo; by-and-by there 
would be the quick slamming of doors and shooting of bolts. 

^ How strange it is,^ I said once, looking up from my book, 
^Fircroft and the Hall seem so far away I I don’t feel as 
though I shall ever want to go back. I should like to go on 
living as we are for years — just you and I, and Kollo.’ 

^And without Jem ? Is the dearly-loved brother so soon 
forgotten ? ’ 

‘ Jem would come and see us sometimes. He is not always 
at Fircroft, you know. When he has left Oxford he will have 
to live in London. We talk of that sometimes, and wonder 
if Hubert will let me join him there. Jem and I have always 
planned to live together.’ 

'You would leave us all,. Olga ? ’ 

'Hot willingly; but if Jem wanted me I would go. I do 
not like to think of him alone in London. Jem ought to be 
my first consideration; we. are eve^thing to each other. 
Hubert has Kitty and the children. I am not needed at Fir- 
croft ; that is what 1 have always felt.’ 

' I should miss you very much I ’ 

'Hot more than I should miss you; but Jem will have two 
more years at Oxford; besides, by that time, you may have 
Basil. When Basil com-es, Jem and I may not be needed.’ 

' Is that how you judge of my friendship, Olga ? ’ 

'Ho, indeed!’ 

But I kissed her with a feeling of remorse; for I was afraid 
that deep down in my heart there was latent jealousy of this 
Basil. If he should ever take possession of the Hall, Jem 
and I would be outsiders. ' It is our own that we want, our 
own flesh and blood,’ that was what Aunt Catherine had said. 
It was Basil, not Jem, not this foolish child Olga, who must 
be taught the family traditions, who must be instructed in 
the old historic lore. Lady Gwendoline and a score of dead 
and buried Seftons were to be introduced to Basil as his 
rightful ancestors. I was only a poor little girl whom the 
ladies had adopted out of sheer kindliness. Well, it was just, 
but it was a little hard; for would this Basil, this stranger 
with his foreign education, his un-English habits, ever love 
Aunt Catherine as Jem and I loved her! 

'And so you would like this odd life of ours to go on for 


'THE PAVILION IN THE GARDEN: 


117 


years asked Aunt Catherine with a smile "of aimsement; 
‘and what would become of the'Hall, and the estate, and 
Virginia, and my poor people, you unpracticable young per- 
son ? ^ 

‘l am not thinking of details/ I returned loftily f ‘at pres-’ 
ent I want things to go on in the same way — to spend endless 
mornings on the shore, to wander along the cliffs in the, 
evening, to drive down to St. Genette, to make excursions, to 
drink coffee under the trees. ; The air is like champagne ; it 
seems to get into my head. 4I long to run about with the 
children on the sands. When I bathe I feel like a water- 
nymph splashing with her companions. I feel so young, and; 
so strong, and so happy, happier than I have ever felt in my 
life, Aunt Catherine.^ 

Aunt Catherine looked at me attentively. 

‘I never saw you look so well, certainly; #You^'look like'^ 
wild-rose, Olga — sweet and fresh, but full of little thorns, 
too; it does me good onlv to look at you. .Come, shall I plan 
another expedition? Snail we ^o down the river in the 
steamer and spend a few hours at Chabert, dine at a restau-. 
rant, and look over the town ? We shall be back by ten/’ 

‘ Delightful ! let us go to-morrow.’ 

‘What an impetuous child! You remind me of the’ old 
French proverb, “Un ‘tiens’ vaut mieux que deux ‘tu Tau- 
rais’;” in plain English, “One ‘holdfast’ is better than two 
‘ thou shalt have it/ ’’ or, as we generally say> “A bird in the 
hand is worth two in a bush.” Well, well, we will go to^ 
morrow.’ 

And that was how Aunt Catherine spoilt me.' 

The clergyman and his wife had called on us a few days 
after we arrived, but with this exception we had no visitors. 
Some of the English people looked at us curiously when we 
went down to the bathing-place, but we kept entirely to our- 
selves. 

One evening I was lying in the hammock; we had been at 
St. Genette all the afternoon, and we were both tired. Aunt 
Catherine was resting on the couch in the salon; but the air 
of the house stifled me, and I preferred swinging under the 
dark trees, and watching the eerie dusk creep over the garden- 
paths. A little crescent of a moon hung in the dark summer 
sky, and one or two stars peeped out over the house. 

A cool, delicious air stirred the leaves above me, and fanned 
my temples refreshingly. I was thinking of Jem; wondering 
what he thought of my long letters, full of descriptions, and 
half afraid they would be put into his pocket half read, whea 


118 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST: 


a low growl from Eollo disturbed me, and a moment after a 
tall, dark figure emerged from a clump of gooseberry-bushes 
in the kitchen-garden and walked rapidly down the little 
path. It had been impossible in the darkness to distinguish 
any features; but as I raised myself in the hammock I judged 
by the free, swinging gait that the intruder must be young. 
The light, springy step certainly did not belong to Monsieur 
Perrot, who was old and fat, and had a stubbly gray beard. 
The incident was a little disturbing, and, in spite of tho 
cheerful light from Jeanne’s unshuttered window, I felt un- 
willing to remain under the dark trees. 

I had a disagreeable impression that the little gate close to 
me might be suddenly unlatched; that even now a face might 
be peering at me through the bushes. Eollo was still sniffing 
about uneasily. I called him quickly, and sprang from the 
hammock, but as soon as I was in the house I began to laugh 
at my own cowardice. 

^ You were startled, Olga,’ observed Aunt Catherine sooth- 
ingly, ^and it is so dark r der those trees. I should have 
felt the same myself. Mot likely it was Monsieur Perrot’s 
lodger. You know, he told me he had a lodger; it may be a 
young man, for all we know, though I was foolish enough to 
make up my mind the lodger was a lady.’ 

^But what was he doing so late in the kHchen-garden ? 
Monsieur Perrot’s house is some way from here.’ 

This seemed to pose Aunt Catherine. 

^ I am sure I don’t know,’ she said, much amused at my 
earnestness; ^but we don’t want any mysterious young men 
suddenly emerging from gooseberry-bushes. Monsieur Perrot 
is away just now; on his return I will question him about his 
lodger. Wait a moment, though, I have an idea; Monsieur 
Perrot mentioned the pavilion once — that is the little barn- 
like building at the end of the garden. Most likely he is an 
artist, and uses the pavilion as a studio. Yes, this is no dpubt 
the truth. So, after all, it was only a harmless artist smoking 
his pipe among the cabbages.’ 

‘ Perhaps Jeanne would know.’ 

advise you not to question her. Jeanne is an inveterate 
gossip. She would retail all your remarks to Madame Perrot. 
After all. Monsieur Perrot’s lodger has nothing to do with 
us. When it is dark you had better keep to this end of the 
garden, and then you will not be startled.’ 

This was sensible advice, and I acted on it; but one even- 
ing, just as we were going to supper, I remembered I had left 
a book belonging to Aunt Catherine on a seat under the trees. 


THE PAVILION IN THE GARDEN 


119 


It was a lovely moonlight night, and the long path leading 
to the little grove was as bright as day. The lawn was bathed 
in silvery radiance; only a dark shadow lurked under the 
trees. 

' I wish I had brought Rollo with me,* I thought, as I went 
quickly down the path ; but I was ashamed to turn hack and 
call him. I could hear Jeanne singing over her work. Aunt 
Catherine was arranging some flowers in the salon. They 
were both within call; but I confess I wished myself back in 
the house, when I heard footsteps on the other side of the 
hedge. With a sudden impulse I caught up the book and 
drew back into the shade, where no one could see me. The 
footsteps came nearer, then paused. I felt as though I were 
suffering nightmare. I was rooted to the spot, and could not 
move. If only I had Rollo ! then I glanced fearfully behind 
me. After all, the sight was not so terrible. 

A young man was leaning on our little gate and looking 
at the house. His face was turned from me, but I could just 
see a little gray peaked-cap drawn over his eyes, with a 
glimpse of dark, closelv-cropped hair. 

Just then Aunt Catnerine s figure blocked up the lighted 
doorway. 

^ Olga, my child, where are you ? * she exclaimed anxiously. 

I dared not answer, for fear of betraying myself. Biit Aunt 
Catherine’s clear 'voice had broken the spell. The dark head 
and gray cap .disappeared. A moment afterward the quick 
footsteps receded into the distance, and I ran down a side- 
path toward the house. Aunt Catherine was looking for me. 

^ Where have you been hiding, Olga ? Why did you not 
answer when I called ? I am almost sure I saw some one 
standing by the gate, only the trees obscured my view. Why, 
you look quite pale and scared; was there really some one ?’ 

‘Yes, yes!’ I exclaimed excitedly; ‘it was a tail man — but 
I could not see his face — he had a gray tweed coat; I could 
see that distinctly, for he was leaning on the gate. Aunt 
Catherine ! ’ with a little gasp ; ‘ he was watching the house.’ 

‘And why should he not watch the house ? ’ she said cheer- 
fully; for she saw I was shaking with nervousness. ‘You 
are as bad as Jeanne, Olga. T)o you know, nothing would 
induce her to pass the cemetery at night — no, not if her dear- 
est friend were dying. Is there any law why Monsieur Perrot’s 
lodger should not use his eyes ? Have you any idea how bright 
and pleasant our house looks when the lamps are lighted and 
there is a warm stream of radiance through the open door ? 
Why should not the poor man stand and admire the cheerful 


120 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 


prospect ? I dare say he felt like that poor young man 

Excelsior — don't you remember how it goes ? ' 

* “ In happy homes he saw the light 

Of household fires burn warm and bright ; 

Above the spectral glaciers shone. 

And from his lips escaped a groan : 

Excelsior 1 ” * 

^ Jem has quite spoiled " Excelsior forme, by parodying 
it. He destroys all the beauty of my favorite pieces.' 

call that a blot on Jem’s character; thecfeverest parody 
is objectionable to me; it is a worse sin in my eyes than pun- 
ning; it is as bad as caricaturing one's friend's or mocking 
them behind their back. You must break Jem of that odious 
habit.' 

^ He does it all the more because he knows how it teases me. 
He has even parodied Longfellow's beautiful poem, “ Tell me 
not in mournful numbers." You know how much I love it; 
but he turned it all into an ode against eating roast pork ; it 
was so funny and yet so clever.' 

shall never remember Jem in my will, unless he turn 
over a new leaf. I think I will tell him that. Well, Olga, 
have you got over your fright yet ? Can you bear to think a 
human being is solaced by the sight of our lamp ? ' 

^ I was a goose to bo so frightened ; . after all, he looked like 
a gentleman.' 

^ He ! I suppose you mean your artist friend who has man- 
aged to drive away your color What a silly child you are ! 
but all the same, you must promise me never to go near those 
trees again after dark unless I am with you.' 

I promised this very readily, but Aunt Catherine was in a 
teasing mood alh supper-time, and did not spare me ; she even 
threatened to write to Jem, and tsll him what a little coward 
I was — as though Jem did not know that long ago; and finally 
she proposed that we should take a turn in the garden, and 
so exorcise the fearful spirit. 

^ Oh! I don't mind it a bit with you and Kollo,' I returned, 
quite pleased at the idea. 

^ Well, this is a ghostly place, I confess!' she said, as we 
stood together under the trees. ^ Olga, you have infected me 
with your curiosity. I am actually going a few steps up t^hat 
path — keep where you are — and I will be back in a moment. 
Kollo, stop with your mistress.' 

^ Don't go far,' I pleaded, for the nightmare feeling was re- 
turning; but Kollo's glossy head was against me; and in an- 
other minute Aunt Catherine returned. 


S. BUTTERFLY HUNT 


121 


She closed the gate carefully behind ber.N _ _ 

.'•There is a light in the pavilion.^ Our artist friend works 
fate. I could hear him whistling. The window was wide 
open, so I did not venture near. What a crazy old building 
it looks in the moonlight ! But it must be a quiet ^6rt of 
place to work in.^What is that Rollo is_carrying.m_his 
mouth ? ^ ^ , 

I stooped to look, and Eollo wagged his tail, and dropped 
something at my feet. He evidently thought he was present- 
ing me with a treasure. ^ It was a little white cotton glove, 
such as children wear, with a ragged thumb, as though tiny' 
teeth had been nibbling it* 

I looked at' it in some bewilderment.^ __ 

^‘The Perrots have' no little children belonging td thehl^ 
have they. Aunt Catherine ? \ 

*No; their eldest son is unmarried, and their daughter, a 
widow, has only one boy of fourteen. I have heard all their 
family history from Jeanne. I wonder where Rollo found 
his treasure. , Perhaps some children have been weeding the 
garden.’ 

‘ Poor people’s children do not wear gloves/ I returned! 
^ Rollo picked it up by the gate. ^ I saw him sniffing at some- 
thing in the grass ? ’ 

* Perhaps the artist is a married man and‘ has children, and 
that is why he works so late. Come, I am beginning to take 
a kindly interest in him. We shall weave quite a romance 
about him presently. Now, it is getting late^ I can hear 
Jeanne shutting up. Will you light our candles, Olga? and 
then we will retire to bed.’ 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A BUTTERFLY HUNT.^ 

'Dear boy, thy momentary laughter rings- 
Sincerely out, and that spontaneous glee. 

Seeming to need no hint from outward things, 

Breaks forth in sudden shouting, loud and free,, 

* From what hid fountains doth thy joyance flow. 

That borrows nothing from the w'orld around? 

Its spring n»ust deeper Tie than we can know — 

A well whose springs lie safely underground.’ 

Archbishop Trench. 

The next morning, as I was standing in the sunny court- 
yard feeding the chickens. Aunt Catherine stepped out of the 


122 THB 8EARCB FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


glass-door, that opened out of the salle-d-manger, in her big 
napping hat, with her favorite gossamer veil twisted round it. 

‘ I find I have no important letters to answer this mOrning,^ 
she said briskly; ^and Jeanne can manage without me, so I 
shall come down with you to the shore. Do you mind choos- 
ing a quieter spot this morning ? for those noisy English girls 
quite disturbed me yesterday.^ 

^ Let us go beyond the little bathing-house. There are some 
deliciously-shady nooks among the rocks,^ I returned eagerly, 
for I rather indorsed her opinion. I had grown tirM of the 
bustle of the bathing-place, with its row of little gaudily-striped 
cabanes, the splashing and joyous cries of the bathers, and the 
groups of nurses and children. Some fast-looking men had 
made acquaintance with a family of English girls, and a great 
deal of flirtation and giggling had bee^ the result. They 
made fun of every one; even Aunt Catherine did not escape 
their witticisms. 

‘ There comes the old maid in the gray haV I heard then! 
say once when I was sitting alone among the rocks. ^ Does 
she not look like a flapping seagull ? I suppose she is afr^d 
of her ^complexion. I v/onder what has become of the little 
girl who is always with her; she^s not a bad little thing, after 
all.^ 

^ Do you mean the girl in brown, who swims so well, Fraser ? ^ 
—-but I would not hear any more. Why did those odious 
creatures take possession of the place ? How could any lady- 
like girls tolerate them ? To call my dear Aunt Catherine 
an old maid, and to sneer because she took care of her smooth^ 
girlish complexion! Oh, I had no patience v/ith them! 

So we crossed the common and v/ent down the steep little 
path by our bathing-house, and after a short scramble' over 
the rocks we found a nice shady corner, where we speiit the 
morning. I had my sketch book and color-box with me, as I 
wanted to send Jem a little painting of the b^y, with its rocky 
islands, and the low-hanging woods on the opposite shore; 
and Aunt Catherine had her knitting and book. Sometiihea 
when she came to a passage that she liked she read it aloud 
to me, and that made the time pass very pleasantly. 

I think we were both sorry when the time came for going 
back to La Maisonnette. I was just putting up my painting 
materials when Aunt Catherine nudged my arm and whis- 
pered : 

^ What a pretty child, Olga! * 

I looked up quickly. A young man in a gray tweed coat 
was springing over the rocks with a little boy in a white 


A BUTTERFLY HUNT. 


123 


Bailor suit seated on his shoulder. The child had a little red 
tap, under which his long hair was streaming in the breeze. 

‘ Gee-gee, Mr. Horse ! " he cried gayly. ‘ Reggie wants to go 
faster — ^faster.' 

^ Hold tight, old man ! ' was the reply. 

/ s they both passed us, the loveliest little face looked down 
upon us, a small hand waved to Rollo. I started, and uttered 
a smothered exclamation : the peaked gray cap and dark, 
closely-cropped hair recalled the intruder of last night. But 
before I could give vent to this suspicion Aunt Catherine in- 
terrupted me. 

* Look— look ! the child has dropped his cap, and his brother 
does not know it/ she said anxiously. ^ The little creature 
will have a sunstroke. Oh dear I oh dearP 

My only answer was to jump up. The cap waS' soon in 
Kollo’s mouth, but he gave it up to me at once. How hot 
the sun was! Kollo rushed at my side with joyous barks as 
I fiew over the sand. Jem had once told me that I could 
beat any girl in a fair race; but we were in the shady road 
beside the washing-pool before I could overtake those long 
swift strides. 

‘I beg your pardon,’ 1 panted; ^but the little boy nas 
dropped his cap.’ 

The young man started and turned round. 

Oh, Reggie!’ he said reproachfully; but the boy only 
burst into a merry laugh. 

^ Reggie’s head is hot/ he said in a tone of perfect satisfac- 
tion. 

^ Thank you so much/ continued the young man. ^Have 
you run after us all that way — ^you were sitting under the 
rocks, were you not ? Reggie, tliank this lady prettily for 
the trouble sne has taken.’ 

* Reggie fanks ’ 00 / repeated tne child glibly. 

He nad a soft little cooing voice; the young man lifted his 
gray cap with another ^ Thank you/ and went on his way. 

^He 13 quite young/ I said to myself as I walked slowly 
back. ‘ There is something almost boyish in his manner; and 
yet it is a singular face-^ark and smooth, and with such 
pronounced features; but he is a gentleman. I liked his 
voice.’ 

^ You ran as lightly as a gazelle, Olga/ were Aunt Cath- 
erine’s first words; ^but, my de^ r. I fear you must have over- 
heated yourself. Did you ever l.o a prettier child, Olga ? It 
was such a bewitching little face.’ 

* I wonder who they can be/ I returned in a puzzle a voice. 


124 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 


‘ I am sure — ^very nearly sure, at least — that it is the same 
young man who was leaning on the gate watching our house 
last night. Of course, I could not see his face, but his figure 
looked the same.^ 

^What nonsense, Olgai What could have put such an 
absurd notion into your head ? Monsieur Perrot^s lodgers 
must belong to quite a different class; this young man did 
not look at all like a poor artist. You know Monsieur Per- 
rot’s house is quite a humble cottage; it cannot afford much 
accommodation.^ 

‘ Still, I am convinced it is the same person,^ I replied 
obstinately; and nothing Aunt Catherine could say could alter 
this opinion in the least. ‘ I am rather glad I have seen him 
by daylight,^ I finished; ^for now I shall not feel in the least 
nervous if I hear footsteps behind the hedge again. One 
does not dread an ordinary young man in a well-cut tweed 
coat.^ 

And though Aunt Catherine laughed at this definition, she 
aid not argue the matter any more. 

I think the beautiful child must have made an impression 
on Aunt Catherine’s soft heart. She was a child-lover by 
nature, for she alluded to him again that day, so I knew she 
had not forgotten him. As for me, I own I had a feeling of 
curiosity; when one is idle, the smallest trifle will interest one. 

Perhaps by this time I was beginning to feel that the life 
at La Maisonnette was a little solitary. Aunt Catherine 
might be content with it, but I was young enough to think 
that even a mere passing acquaintance would be pleasant. 
How nice if I had that dear little Keggie to play with! I 
' could fancy him darting over the lawn in pursuit of butter- 
■ flies: a child would be such an amusement. ' 

The next morning we went to the same place, and I founa 
myself several times looking up from my sketch-book in the 
hope of seeing a little figure in a white sailor suit playing on 
the sand; but only a bonne^ and a few chattering children 
passed us. 

As we went home, toiling a little wearily up the steep snaay 
road. Aunt Catherine told me that she had ordered Jules to 
bring the fiacre at half-past two. 

am going to drive down to the Rue d’Eglise^* she ex- 
plained, ^ in the hope that Monsieur Lefevre has returned. 
We have been here a fortnight and nothing has been done. 
Poor Virginia’s last letter was so sad; Marsden says she is 
already wearying for our return.’ 

^ Do you wish to go alone, Aunt Catherine ? ’ 


4 BUTTERFLY HUNT, 


125 


'Yes, dear, I think it will be best; and the drive will be so 
hot. I have some shopping to do, too; but I shall be back 
by tea-time. You will not be dull, Olga ?' 

I scouted this idea with some energy. 

' I mean to spend the afternoon under the fir-trees below the 
common,^ I said presently. ' I shall get a breeze from the 
bay there, and it will be cool looking at that green pool be- 
longing to the Chdteau de Clairville.^ 

'And thinking of the poor drowned boy, Henri DeTaincourt., 
I think our own little grove would be more cheerful; but I 
believe you are still afraid of the owner of the pavilion.^ 

I contradicted this stoutly. I was afraid of no young men 
in tweed suits, either in daylight or by moonlight. I only 
wanted variety and a breeze from the bay. So I carried my 
point, and presently stood on the steep bank looking down 
at the passers-by in the road beneath, and then, seating my- 
self at the foot of one of the firs with my open book in my 
lap and Kollo’s glossy black head beside me, I soon fell into 
a blissful day-dream. 

It was an enchanting spot; the sombre green pool closed 
in with trees looked cool and refreshing. To my left were 
the blue flashing waters of the bay. Some soldiers were going 
down to the shore. I could see their red shoulder-knots 
through the trees. I could hear the women’s voices from the 
washing-pool. Below there was life, amusement, human 
activity; but above was the, quiet sunshiny common with its 
broom and gorse and purpling heather. 

We had spent more than an hour in this delicious ' far niente,^ 
when Kollo suddenly pricked up his ears and sat on his 
ht inches as though suspicious of some crackling sound be- 
hind us. I peeped cautiously round the free-boTe. To my 
astonishment I saw a little white groping figure in the dry 
ditch; the gleaiii of a red cap was plainly visible, with long, 
straight hair under it. The next moment it emerged bodily 
from the ditch and commenced running down the steep slope 
leading to the road. 

- It was rather a dangerous declivity for little feet, and I 
rose hastily with a warning cry. ' Where could his brother 
be ? surely the child was not alone on the common ? ’ I 
thought of the cliff with a shudder; even if he ran too fast 
now, he might tumble into the road below. 'Keggie!’ I ex- 
claimed, ' come away!’ for the little creature was flashing be- 
tw^een the trees like a wiU-o-the-wisp; he was evidently in 
pursliit of a large moth. ' Kollo, lie still ! ’ I said authorita- 
tively, for I was afraid the dog might frighten him if he joined 


126 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHJ)HURS2\ 


in the chase. Kollo obeyed reluctantly, and sat up panting, 
and with watery, eager eyes, watching me as I ran down t 
slope. Reggie saw me and stopped still. 

‘ Keg wants that butterpie," he said plaintively, pointing 
with his finger to the tree above us. 

^The butterfiy has fiown away,' I replied, taking his 
hand. 

His dear little face looked hot and eager; his beautiful 
eyes were large and wistful; he had his cap hugged closely to 
him; his dark hair was cut across his temples in the fashion 
children were wearing it just then; he was so pretty I could 
not help kissing him; but he seemed to take my attention as 
a matter of course. 

‘ Keg wants to ride on the big doggie,' was his next remark, 
and he walked up to Kollo in the most confiding way, and 
patted him. ^ Gee up, doggie 1 ' 

And actually one little leg was across him before I caught 
him away. 

^ Kollo does not like little boys to ride on him. Shake 
hands with him instead.' 

And as Kollo proffered his clumsy big paw, Reggie broke 
into a fit of musical laughter and clapped his hands before 
his mouth. 

^ Funny big doggie! Reggie must not laugh, or the doggie 
will be angry. Dood-bye, doggie. Reggie wants more but- 
terpies I ' 

And he was darting away again; but I had my arms round 
him in a minute. 

^ Where is Reggie’s brother?' •! asked, Reggie must be a 
good boy and find him. Good little boys do not run about 
alone.' 

The child seemed perplexed at my question. lie looked at 
me, then at Kollo; then a merry light came into his eyes. 

^ Reggie wanted butterpies ! Reggie ruiXned away I What 
larks!' Yes, actually that innocent babe, for he could^not 
have been more than four years old, said ^What larks!' and 
burst out laughing again. 

I was at my wits' end; was he really speaking the truth, or 
was it only nonsense ? but before I could make up my mind 
to believe him he had escaped from my hand. 

^Hood-bye; Reg is going home/ and he was darting round 
the corner as hist as his little legs would carry him. He 
laughed more than ever when he saw I was in pursuit of 
him — it was evidently a rare game to Reggie; in fact, he 
laughed so much that he had to stop and take breath, so I 


A BUTTERFLY HUNT. ‘121 

caught him up easily. He gave We a droll. little'looK'then; 
and put his hand in mine of his own accord.^ 

^ Reg is tired^' he observed confidentially; but when I offered 
to carry him he shook his head with much dignity. 

‘ Where is Reggie’s big gee-gee ? ’ I asked, with suddoii in^^ 
Bpiration. He understood me at once. 

‘Over there/ he said, pointing in the direction of La Mai- 
sonnette. He had led me down one of the paths leading off 
the common, and we were in a little copse now — beyond us 
lay some fields. Reggie^ who was drag^^ing at my hand rather 
wearily, pointed to a little path. 

^ Reggie runned all down there, and the butterpie runned 
too.’ 

‘ Did you come down that path, really ?’ 

He nodded vigorously. I had never been there before, and 
1 had no idea where it led. Reggio seemed acquainted with 
it; he went along contentedly, now and then stopping to gather 
a bright-colored weed, and crooning a little tune to himself. 
Only once, as the path turned off; and I was still going un 
the field, he pulled me back. 

^Reg lives there/ he said, pointing to a brown, barn-like 
building in the distance. 

With a sort of shock I discovered we were at the back of 
the pavilion. A little door in the wall stood o})en; I could 
see the grass -grown steps, and the apple-trees in the kitchen- 
garden. I was so surprised that I stood quite still, until 
Reggie gave me a little push and we went in. 

Reggie slammed the door behind us; then, quite ignoring 
my presence, ha stumped up the worn steps. 1 followed him 
slowly. 

^Reggie’s tomed back/ he said, pushing open another door; 
but there was no answef. I guessed at once the room was 
empty. I made up my mind that I was entering an artist’s 
studio, but as I followed Reggie I looked round in some sur- 
prise — it was fitted up as a living room. It was a large, bare- 
looking apartment, with three windows, each commanding a 
different aspect. One of them looked out on our little grove; 
I could see the empty hammock swaying in the slight breeze. 

A ladder communicated evidently with a loft; a gray kitten 
sat on the lowest step washing its face. The furniture was 
of the plainest decsription — a bed, covered with a blue quilt; 
a washstand, Wnth a large green cruche; a round table in one 
window, an armchair covered with seedy-looking red velvet, 
beside it; a portable cupboard, with a coffee-pot and some 
yellow cups and saucers; another table, with writing materials 


128 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


and books; a wooden chair or two; and a leathern portman- 
teau, with a rug tossed upon it. There was a small closed 
stove, but it had not been lighted; on the top was a small tin 
kettle with a spirit-lamp under it, ready for kindling. Reggie 
looked round rather piteously. 

^ Reg wants his tea,^ he said pursing up his dear little mouth 
as though he were going to cry. 

1 sat down by the writing-table and took him up in my lap 
to comfort him. There was a pile of neatly-bound books 
lying near me. • I could just see the titles — an edition of 
Sophocles, ^The Epic of Hades, ^ ‘The Liglit of Asia,^ by 
Edwin Arnold, and Oarlyle^s ‘French Revolution/ I had no 
time to see more; for just then there was a rapid footstep 
outside — the door was pushed open, and the young man in 
the gray tweed suit was looking at us from the threshold. 

He seemed transfixed with astonishment, and a flush crossed 
his face as though he were embarra-sSed, I rose at once, feel- 
ing very nervous. , 

‘I beg your pardon/ I stammered, ‘for this intrusion; but. 
I found your little brother straying on the common in search 
of butterflies, and brought him home; the place is not safe 
for so young a child/ 

He was about to answer, but Reggie interrupted him. 

‘ The butterpie runned away, and Reggie runned too,^ he 
said calmly,* as though he were stating an important fact. 

‘ Oh, Reg, Reg — how am I ever to trust you again,' replied 
the young man, taking him*in his arms and looking at him 
with reproachful tenderness — ‘ when you promised me not to 
stir ? ' Then turning to me, as I witnesssed this little scene 
with unfeigned interest, he said earnestly : ‘ I have to thank 
you a second time on Reggie's behalf. You are quite right 
—the common is not safe; it was truly good of you to bring 
him back ! Did Reggie show you the way ? ' 

‘Yes; he led me straight to the pavilion. I was so sur- 
prised! I had no’ idea that we were such ‘near neighbors — 
that any one really lived here,' looking round the room as I 
spoke. 

I am afraid my speech was a little blunt, for an odd ex- 
pression crossed his face — a proud sort of look. 

‘1 knew we were neighbors/ he replied rather coolly; 'for 
I have often seen you in the garden of La Maisonnette. "We 
are Monsieur Perrot's lodgers, Reggie and I. He has kindly 
fitted up this old pavilion for our use. It is rather a rough 
sort of place, but I like it for a change. We lead a picnic 
life; it is rather fun, isn't it, Reg ?' 


A BUTTERFLY HUNT. 


m 


* You and your little brother ? * 

Now, as Aunt Catherine said afterward, I had no right to 
stand there questioning a perfect stranger; but I cannot ac- 
count for the strong feeling of interest that prompted me to 
linger. 

He gave a short laugh at my question. 

‘ You make a mistake; I am Reggie^s father, not his 
brother,^ he said quickly; and I blushed with annoyance at 
my error. He continued, as though to set me at my ease, 
‘ ether people have thought the same as you.^ 

I was too confused to reply and was turning away with a 
murmured ^ Good-morning,^ though it was very nearly evening 
now, when Reggie stooped from his high perch, for he was 
seated on his father’s shoulder. 

' Reg wants the lady to kiss him.’ 

The little darling, how was one to refuse ? but as I im- 

E riiited a kiss on the smooth baby-face, the young man said 
urriedly : 

^ I have not thanked you as I ought, and yet you have 
saved "me from a painful shock. If I had found the room 
empty on my return, I should have feared something had 
happened to Reggie. I must never leave hi n again.’ He 
followed me to the steps, but did not offer his hand. ‘ Believe 
me. I am truly grateful,’ he said with a pleasant smile that 
seemed to light up his face. 

^Good-by — good-morning, I mean!’ was my incoherent 
reply. ^ I am so glad I found him.’ As I stepped into the 
little grass-grown path I glanced back. They were still there 
watching me. Reggie waved his hand; his father lifted his 
cap. I felt myself grow hotter every moment. am 
Reggie’s father 1 ’ What an astonishing, what an incredible 
avowal! That boyish-looking fellow Reggie’s father! and 
when I came to reflect on it more coolly, why should J be so 
surprised ? The smooth dark face might be older than it 
looked. He certainly expressed himself with manly dignity; 
but still he was far, far too young to be a widower, and when 
I told Aunt Catherine, on her return, she agreed with me 
that it was very sad. 

^ I suppose he is a widower, Olga,’ she said a little doubt- 
fully. 

^ Yes, of course,’ I returned eagerly; ^he is living there 
alone with his little boy. NoW I come to think of it, he wore 
a plain gold ring on his finger. You always know a widower 
by that, and he is in mourning, too; for though he wears a 
gray tweed coat; he has a black tie. Oh dear, how sad it 
9 


180 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST: 


Beems, Aunt Catherine! He is a gentleman, and yet he 
must be very poor — the room looked so bare. It cannot be 
pleasant to have a ladder in one^s bedroom, and there was no 
carpet, only a mat or two, on the floor.^ 

^ You do not know his name 

^No, indeed; as it was, I am afraid he thought me curious. 
When he came in he did not seem quite pleased to see me 
there. I am sure he is proud, and does not want people to 
know he is poor.^ 

‘Very possibly. Monsieur Perrot could afford to let him 
have the pavilion f:)r a trifle. I think it has been used as a 
etore-house before. It is a little awkward for us, having such 
close neighbors. You cannot heip bowing to him, of course, 
but it will never do to pick up an acqainutance in this way.^ 

^Oh, Aurt Catherine, I must speak to that dear little 
Reggie if I see him.^ 

Aunt Catherine looked rather dubious at this. The ladies 
were very particular on all questions of etiquette, and of 
course she felt the charge of a young girl rather an onerous 
responsibility. 

‘Well, well, you can just nod to him,’ she said, dismissing 
the subject, and she told me rather sadly the result of her ex- 
pedition. 

‘ Monsieur Lefevre’s brother is not yet dead, Olga. They 
think he may linger some time yet. A young priest is tak- 
ing Monsieui' Lefevre’s place. I spoke to him for a moment. 
He was very civil. He told me that it was Monsieur Lefevre’s 
only brother; that he was much younger and like a son to 
him, and that he would not leave him until all was over. 

“‘He may linger some time yet,” he said; “there is great 
weakness, but little suffering. He clings to life rather tena- 
ciously, madame. He has not weaned his affections from 
earth. It is not always easy to wish for death when one is 
not old, and as to that, the old are not more willing than the 
young — it takes a saint to die well. Some do not commence 
their education until the class is called. Many of us are not 
too ready with our lesson.” Qh, we had quite a conversation 
in the little dark passage! He was a good young man; he 
spoke feelingly.’ 

I was not surprised, that Aunt Catherine owned herself a 
little tired — the delay was peculiarly trying to her energetic 
nature. She wanted to be doing something. But she tried 
to throw off her lassitude, and made me go on with a book 
we were reading together, and in which I was much interested. 

That night as 1 went to bed I stood for a few minutes by 


A PniMND IN NJEM3. 


m 


my open window. The garden was bathed in moonlight, and 
the leaves of the trees below me had a strange silvery light oh 
them; the summer wind was laden with the perfume of the 
sleeping flowers. 

^ I wonder if Keggie be sleeping too/ I thought, as I at lasf 
turned away reluctantly; and my last thought that night wns 
a vivid remembrance of a little figure flashing between the 
tree-trunks, and of a radiant upturned face, and eager, grop- 
ing hands, as the gay-colored moth fluttered beyond his reach. 


CHAPTEK XV. 


A FKIEND liT NEED. 


*He acted with the steadiness, promptitude, and determination 
which belonged to. riper years.’ 

* The Monastery' 


‘ Thou art obliging, friend, and, I doubt not, sincere.’ 

‘ Castle Dangerous.' 


The next day was Sunday, and as we walked to the little 
English church at St. Croix, I secretly wondered if the oc- 
cupant of the pavilion were an orthodox churchgoer, or if he 
were, like other Bohemians, somewhat irreligious in his habits. 
I was secretly afraid that this latter surmise might be correct; 
most likely he was bathing, or boating, or perhaps wandering 
over the sands with Keggie. Well, it was no business of 
mine; but all the same a feeling of anxiety would intrude 
itself on my mind when I thought of that sweet, engaging 
little creature. ^And he has no one but his father to set him 
an example/ I finished with youthful severity. 

I felt rather ashamed of my rash judgment when, on enter- 
ing the church, I saw a dark, closely -cropped head before me, 
and, lower down on the seat, a little figure in a white sailor 
suit. They were sitting just before us, and as I was kneeling 
down Reggie looked round and gave me a radiant smile. I 
could see him afterward making signs to his father to look 
too, but he shook his head and took no notice. 

What strange creatures we are ! I am sure I enjoyed my 
service all the more for finding I had been wrong in my un- 
charitable surmise. Reggie was evidently quite accustomed 


132 TSM SEARCH FOR EAML LYNEHUMT. 

to go to church. After the first ’uinute he behaved beauti- 
fully — holding his Prayer-book upside down, and sitting per- 
fectly still durin'g the sermon, with such a dear, prim ex- 
pression on his little face, as though he knew how good he 
was. His father, too, seemed very attentive; he repeated all 
the responses, and sung in a deep, rich voice. Once I saw 
him look at Reggie, and a grave, sorrowful sort of expression 
crossed his face; and then he took the child’s hand and held 
it all the rest of the service. 

As we went out they were very near us, and I saw Reggie 
looking at me wistfully, as though he wanted to speak to me; 
but as I nodded to him his father drew him quickly on. I 
know he saw us, for he gave a quick glance round ; but as we 
went out of the gate I saw them walking down the town, as 
though they were going to St. Genette. 

^ Your little friend behaved very nicely, Olga,^ Aurit Cath- 
erine said, as we turned in the opposite direction; ^he was as 
quiet as a little mouse all the service. And yet when I saw 
him give you that merry look when we first came in I was 
half afraid how things might be.^ 

^ I never saw a child behave better.^ 

^ Nor I; he has evidently been well brought up. What an 
interesting little creature he is ! But his father looks very 
sad.^ 

^ Do you think so ? ^ 

^ Yes; I could see his face plainly once or twice. It was a 
beautiful sermon, but I do not believe he was listening. He 
seemed buried in gloomy thoughts, and yet Mr. Baraud was 
preaching about cheerfulness. He was dressed very well — he 
is not at all shabby-looking — and yet they are living in that 
odd way.^ 

^ It is rather difficult to understand, certainly.^ 

He is a gentleman — I am sure of it. He was quite aware 
that you were behind him in the porch, but he thought it 
better not to take any notice of you. The child was hanging 
back, but he drew him on. We are such close neighbors that 
most likely he considers any recognition would be awkward. 

I call that good taste on his part.^ 

I would not contradict Aunt Catherine, but I had just felt 
a little hit offended. It would not have hurt him to have 
bowed, or to have.let Reggie speak to me. I thought it was 
his stiff English way to keep aloof, just because we had not 
been formally introduced. Of course he was a gentleman — I 
did not need Aunt Catherine to tell me that ; one’s instinct 
on such a point is never wrong. As I felt slightly touchy, 1 


A FRIEND IN NEED, 


133 


thought it better to drop the subject; so I began talking 
about Jem — dear old fellow! — and that alv/ays put me in a 
good humor. 

I was not surprised that they were missing at evening serv- 
ice. Reggie was too young a child for that; but as we were 
walking down the steep cliff-path leading to the washing- 
pool, on our return, I saw the young man standing under a 
clump of trees looking at the bay. 

As we were passing he turned quickly round, and we came 
face to face. He looked startled, and muttered a ‘good- 
evening^ as he took off his cap. Aunt Catherine made no 
remark, neither did I. We both knew he was following us 
up the lane. As We turned in at the great brown gate, he 
walked quickly past, looking straight before him. 

The next morning we spent some hours on the shore, as 
usual, and in the afternoon we sat under the trees in the 
garden. As I knew we were overlooked from the pavilion, I 
would not use the hammock, and sat up as sedately as Aunt 
Catherine. I was buried in my book, and was not a little 
startled when the violent shaking of the little gate behind 
me roused me from my novel, and there stood Reggie, peep- 
ing at us between the bars. 

‘ Open gate for Reggie,’ he shouted. 

Aunt Catherine rose at once. 

^What do you want, my dear?’ she asked very kindly. 
^ You must run away, or father will be looking for you.’ 

But Reggie stood his ground. 

‘ Who are you ? Reggie does not know you ; Reggie wants 
the little lady. Open, please ’ — shaking the gate again. 

Mieggie! what are you doing there?’ exclaimed a sterji 
voice. ^ Come away this moment ! ’ 

The child looked perplexed; his father’s sternness was evi- 
dently new to him. 

‘ Father, come and open the gate,’ he said, with wistful con- 
fidence. ‘ Reggie wants to play with the lady.* 

‘ No — nonsense ! ’ and a hasty stride followed the word. 

The young man was just snatching him up, when I said 
piteously, foY the beautiful, eager little face was too much for 
my stoicism : 

‘ Oh, pleaso — please do let me have him for a little. Aunt 
Catherine I . Do let me have him I I should so like to play 
with him ! ’ 

I do not know what Aunt Catherine thought of my impul- 
siveness, but she certainly made the best of it. 

^ Will you spare him to us for a little while ?’ she said^ with 


134 THE mARCH FOR BABIL LYNDHURBT. 


her kind smile. ^TJiis young lady is so fond of children. 
We v/ill take great care of him.^ 

The young man bowed gravely; he seemed more embar- 
rassed than pleased. 

* Certainly, if you are so kind as to wish for my little boy’s 
company. Reggie, old fellow, mind you behave yourself like 
a gentleman.’ He set him down, and opened the gate. 
^ Please send him back directly you are tired of him. Reggie 
knows his way home ; ’ and with another bow that included 
me he went back to the pavilion. 

Reggie jumped into my arms with a delighted shout, and 
seemed to like my hugging him. Then he pointed to the 
hammock, which he called a swing, and very soon he was 
lying in it with his eyes shut, Agoing to sleep.’ W© had a fine 
romp after that — Reggie and Rollo and I. Aunt Catherine 
sat and watched us as we dodged each other among the tiny 
flower-beds, or played at hide-and-seek in the bushes. Some- 
times we hid from Rollo, and he was as clever as possible 
flnding us out. 

When Jeanne brought us our coffee, we sent her back for 
milk and biscuits for Reggie. He seemed almost too excited 
to eat. Once, when a butterfly skimmed past, us he jumped 
mp in pursuit. The graceful little body darted hither and 
thither over the lawn. 

^ Isn’t he lovely ! ’ I exclaimed, as he ran back to us, his 
eyes sparkling v/ith glee. 

^ Butterpie gone home,’ he said. ‘ Reggie catched one yes- 
terday;’ and he sat down contentedly to his biscuits again. 

A little later, as he was swinging again in the hammock, I 
thought I would have some conversation jwith him, so I began 
by saying: 

^ Reggie dear, do you remember poor mammie ?’ 

‘ Mammie’s an angel! ’ he returned promptly, with a senti- 
mental air. ‘ They put her in the ground to grow. Father 
said so.’ • 

^ Dear me ! What an extraordinary idea to put into a child’s 
head, Olga ! ’ 

Reggie looked up at the sky in a contemplative manner — 
his expression was heavenly — then he looked at me anxiously. 

^Will mammie grow ? Reggie digged for her once. Reg- 
gie digged, and digged; but mammie was not there — only 
nasty black worms; so Reggie runned away. Reggie hates 
black worms I ’ 

‘Don’t question him any more, Olga ! ’ interrupted Aunt 
Catherine; ‘he is such a baby, and of course his ideas of 


A FRIEND IN NEED. 


135 


death are confused. I have been thinking that, after all, it 
is not a bad idea, on the part of Keggie’s father. The seed 
planted grows into the lovely flower; so the child’s imagina- 
tion pictures a growing angel. Think of the infantine faith 
— the baby hands digging for the lost mother. What marvels 
children are ! no miracle would astonish their innocent eyes, 
and why ? because life to them is one miracle. Don’t you 
think we might learn a lesson from them ? Why are we hu- 
man children to think ourselves grown up with our heavenly 
Father ? How the angels must wonder at us! ^ 

Aunt Catherine was in one of her gentle, moralizing moods, 
but Beggie interrupted her by suddenly scrambling out of 
the hammock. 

^Dood-bye; Beggie must go home now.^ 

^ Of course, the child has been with us for two hours — he is 
quite right, dear little fellow I ^ and Aunt Catherine opened 
tne gate with suspicious alacrity. Beggie started through it. 

^Beggie is here, father!^ we heard him say. The answer 
also reached us: 

^That’s right; what a time you have been, old man!^ 

Aunt Catherine was unusually thoughtful that evening. 
But I was rather amused when at supper she suddenly broke 
out into a little incoherent speech, in which my injudicious 
impulsiveness and her own blamable softness of heart were 
rather severely rebuked. 

quite allow for the temptation,’ she went on; ‘but it is 
always best to think before one speaks. I am afraid it was 
rather a liberty on our part. I am not sure the yor.ng man 
was pleased; 1 know it was hard to refuse the darling — such 
a sweet little pleading face as it was ! — but we cannot be too 
careful in a place like this. What do we know about this 
young man, except that he looks like a gentleman, and lives 
in rather a Bohemian fashion ? and he is not even an artist; ’ 
as though, in Aunt Catherine’s opinion, this somehow com- 
plicated matters. 

I am afraid my argument in return for this piece of ex- 
cellent good sense was strictly feminine, therefo»*e no argu- 
ment at all : 

‘I can’t help all that. Aunt Catherine; Beggie has fas- 
cinated me — I have fallen in love with him, he is such a 
dear!’ and though Aunt Catherine shook her head at this 
girlish remark, she evidently thought it useless to pursue the 
subject. 

As her warning was in vain she had recourse to diplomacy. 
So the next afternoon, as I was preparing to go in the garden. 


1S6 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


ehe observed that it would be pleasanter on the common. I 
was about to remoiistrate, but I saw from her expression that 
she had made up her mind on the subject, so I thought it 
best to say nothing. 

It was the first afternoon that I did not thoroughly enjoy, 
but when we went back to take our coffee in the salle-d- 
manger, Jeanne met us with uplifted hands. 

^Le pauvre enfant! ah, it was heart-breaking!^ 

^ What do you mean I exclaimed brusquely, pushing past 
Aunt Catherine. ^ Surely nothing has happened to Reggie ?’ 

‘ Mille pardonnes! no, there was nothing to make la demoi- 
selle look so scared. But ail the same, it made her (Jeanne) 
triste to see the little angel shaking the gate, and calling for 
la demoiselle. ^ The lady who smiles,’ that is what he called 
the demoiselle, whom he implored to open the gate. ‘ C’est 
moi, Reggie,’ he affirmed constantly, and she (Jeanne) could 
not pacify him*; poor little one! he had cried so bitterly, and 
monsieur had lifted him in his arms and' kissed him a dozen 
times as he carried him away. 

^Ah! Aunt Catherine,’ I said reproachfully, and the dear 
thing looked quite sorry, and ashamed of herself. Her simpb 
little ruse had mfiicted pain, and Aunt Catherine hated to give 
pain, even to a fiy. I think we both had a pathetic picture 
in our minds at that moment, of a little wistful face peering 
into a forbidden paradise. ^ The lady who Smiles ’ — what a 
pretty description f and what a stupid thing conventionality 
was, if it would not allow one to play with a^child! 

Aunt Catherine’s primness was not proof against all this 
pathos and disappointment, and tlie next afternoon she had 
no objection to allege against our favorite resort; . but thb 
time there was no interruption. Of course- Reggie was a 
prisoner in the pavilion; his father’s pride could not brook 
interference from strangers; Reggie must be kept out of 
harm’s way. ^ The lady who smiled ’ was an embarrassing and 
unnecessary personage in the estimation of this perverse 
young man. 

Later in the evening I took a solitary stroll. Aunt Cath- 
erine was tired; but, as I was restless, she would not keep 
me in. ^ Do not go too far, Olga, and come back before the 
dusk sets in,’ were her parting v/ords. 

I had every intention of fulfilling these two injunctions 
faithfully; bqt it was a delicious evening, and the lanes were 
enticing. I wandered on, and the soft creeping twilight 
found me still some distance from La Maisonnette. 

I had met few people — an old woman with two tethered 


A FRIEND IN NEED, 


137 


cows grazing by the roadside, a boy in a blue blouse, a little 
girl with a string of red beads round her neck; but by-and- 
by I heard footsteps the other side of the hedge, then voices. 
Two* people were walking down the field path, within a few 
feet of me, evidently bound for the same direction. An un- 
definable feeling of pleasure crossed me as I recognized Keg- 
gie’s voice. 

‘ Father.' 

* AVell, what is it, old fellow ? Tired, eh ? ' 

^ Eeggie's legs ache dedful.’ 

^Poor little bgs! Ko wonder, when they have been run- 
ning about all day! Here; climb up, old man.’ 

‘ Xo, fank ’oo. Keggie too tired to ride gee-gee.’ 

^What, quite used up? Never mind; father will carry 
Reggie in his arms all the way home. Is that comfortable ? ’ 

‘ Wery comforble, fank ’oo,’ evidently cuddling up in sleepy 
fashion. ^ Father sing to Reggie now.’ 

^Sing you to sleep? No, that will never do; wait till we 
get home. Look at those stars; are they not bright ? Don’t 
go to sleep yet, my boy. Try and talk to father; poor father 
is so dull.’ 

‘ So dull,’ echoed Reggie in a drowsy voice. 

* Father has no one but Reggie now. What would he do 
without his little boy, I wonder ? ’ 

* He would kye,’ very promptly. 

^ Oh, if crying would mend matters, father would cry an 
ocean full; but we can’t wash out our mistakes in that fashion; 
there is no blessed Lethe for us poor human beings. Some 
of us have a taste of purgatorial fires in this world. You 
love father, don’t you. Keg ? ’ 

^ Reggie loves father dedfulb.’ 

‘That’s my own boy! Well^ I have you— my one blessing 
out of all the cursed wreck; so there is no need for the 
enemy to blaspheme.’ 

.1 was so afraid of hearing more that I put my fingers in 
my ears and hurried on. Had I done wrong to listen ? and 
yet how could I have avoided it ? — only the hedge divided us. 
Every tone of the deep, intense voice seemed to vibrate almost 
painfully in my ears; the chord of hopeless sadness underly- 
ing the fatherly tenderness was distinctly audible to me. At 
the words ‘ Father has only Reggie now ’ there was a sigh, 
long-drawn) and pitiful, as though an open grave were yawn- 
ing before his eyes. 

The tears sprang to my own as I heard it; he was so young 
to be so sorely tried. As I hurried down the narrow winding 


188 THE SEARCH FOR BA&IL LYNBHUR^T, 


lane, I remembered a gate opened into the field ; probably 
they would come through it. In my eagerness to avoid an 
embarrassing rencontre so far from home, I walked on quickly 
and heedlessly. The dusk was confusing; the high over- 
hanging hedges made it still darker. 

I was Vexed at my own carelessness in having wandered so 
far from home, and afraid that Aunt Catherine .. ould soon 
become anxious at my delay; and this mixture of emotions 
absorbed my thoughts, and I stumbled on blindly. The next 
minute I struck against a stone, and my fo^t doubled up 
under me. The sudden pain told me what had happened — 
it was a slight sprain. 

I sat down on the fallen log of a tree not far from the gate 
to recover myself, until the pain subsided. It was not a 
pleasant state of things. Granted that the sprain was not 
a severe one, it was* still sufficient to retard my progress. I 
got up and tried to stand. Yes, it was possible; I could limp 
along pretty fairly. But if the pam got worse ? The ankle 
was swelling, too. I sat down again, and unfastened my boot 
with difficulty; this gave me a little ease, and I determined 
to make a fresh start — ^ Nil desperandum,^ as Jem used to say. 

At this moment footsteps approached the gate — it was un- 
latched. I could just see a tall dark figure turn into the 
lane. It would have to pass me, but I determined to take no 
notice. I had some flowers in my lap, and I busied myself 
with them, hoping that in the dusk he would not be able to 
recognize me. 1 thought he was about to stop, but he evi- 
dently thought better of it, and walked on rather slowly. 

I was unwilling to be left alone in the gathering darkness, 
so I thought I would follow them. Even the sense of their 
nearness would be company; but I got up too quickly, and 
was obliged to sit down again with a suppressed groan. In a 
moment the footsteps came back. 

^ Have you hurt yourself ? Can I help you in any way ? * 
asked a voice anxiously. 

I thought it was impossible that he could recognize me. 
He evidently thought he was addressing a stranger. 

^ I struck against a stone just now, and I fear I nave sprained 
my ankle ; it is not very bad, and I shall be able to walk di- 
rectly ; but I got up too quickly.^ 

■ Why, it is the lady from La Maisonnette ! ^ he returned 
with some surprise. ^ It was too dark to recognize you. Keg- 
gie, wake up; this is your friend.^ 

^ Is it the smiling lady, father ? ^ asked Reggie in a very 
sleepy voice. 


A FRIEND IN NEED. 


139 


^That is what the rogue always calls you; but I am truly 
sorry for your misfortune/ How very friendly and kind his 
voice sounded ! though it was impossible to read his expression. 
I could barely see the outline of his features. * I am afraid 
you are in pain/ and then he added rather impatiently, ^ I 
want to be of use; but it is so confoundedly dark under thc.e 
trees that I cannot see how to help you. It is much lighter 
fuHher on.' 

‘ Please do not trouble about me,' I returned hastily; ^my 
foot is better now, and I think I can manage to walk. Reg- 
gie is so tired, and I know it is time for him to be in bed. 
You must not let me detain you/ 

A short laugh answered me. 

‘ Do you think that is the way that Reggie and I mean to 
prove our neighborliness — to pass by on the other side? and 
especially as we have to thank you for two or three kindly 
services — by bringing my naughty runaway back, for example, 
on that terribly hot afternoon. Now please tell me how I 
am to help you. I can easily carry Reggie on one arm and 
give you the other;' and as though he read my hesitation 
aright, he continued more earnestly; ^Indeed, I am very 
strong, and the boy is no weight at all. Put your arm round 
father's neck, Reggie, and hold tight. That's right, boy. 
Now, then, let me see how you can stand; ' and the next mo- 
ment a strong hand assisted me to rise.. ^ Come, that is cani- 
tal ! Can you put your foot to the ground ? ' 

^Yes — I think so,' making the attempt carefully. ^Of 
course it hurts, and I shall have to walk very, very slowly; 
but I do not think it is a severe sprain.' 

^ I am glad to hear it — now — Miss — Miss— oh, I forgot I ^ 
with a slightly nervous laugh; ^but will you take my arm, 
please, and just use me as a crutch.' 

^ My name is Leigh/ I returned, as I obeyed. 

Oh, Aunt Catherine, what would you say to see me now ? 
but necessity knows no laws. We moved along slowly, and 
there was silence for a minute or two, and then my companion 
said very kindly: 

^ How are you getting on. Miss Leigh ? Does it hurt much ? 
Excuse me, but you are not making suihcient use of me. I 
am afraid I am not much assistance, alter all.' 

^ Oh yes, you are, thank you, and the pain is not very bad. 
How your arm must ache, carrying Reggie ! He is asleep, is 
he not ? ' 

^Fast asleep, poor little beggar! We have been too far this 


140 THE BE ARCH FOR BASIL LTNBHURBT, 


evening, and I have tired him out; he is such a plucky little 
chap that one forgets what a baby he is/ 

^ He is a darling/ I returned, half under my breath, but my 
remark was overheard. 

‘ I don’t think there are many children of his age like him. 
You would not believe how sensible he is, and such a com- 
panion ! Perhaps I am not impartial,’ and I could feel he 
was smiling; ‘ but he is just perfect in my eyes/ 

1 was about to answer ; but my foot came in contact with 
another loose stone, and I gave a little cry of pain. He 
stopped at once. 

‘ Oh dear ! I am afraid that was my fault. Will you wait 
just a moment, and I will shift the boy to the other arm, and 
then I can help you much better ? Now then, lean all you 
weight on me. Don’t be scrupulous. Miss Leigh. I am a 
tower of strength. We are getting on famously, and every 
footstep is bringing us nearer home. Does talking worry 
you ? Would you rather have me hold my tongue ?’ 

^ No — talk, please,’ I replied faintly, for my foot was pretty 
bad now; ^it will make me forget the pain a little. Talk 
about Keggie — anything.’ 

^ You are very brave,’ in a grave, pitying voice; did not 
think a girl — I beg your pardon, a young lady — could be so 
brave. Do you see that twinkling light ? that is where my 
landlord, Monsieur Perrot, lives. What a droll old fellow he 
is! Madame, his wife, matches him in drollery — they are a 
curious couple.’ 

^Are they ? ’ 

^ They are interesting from a psychological point of view. 
Monsieur Perrot is a consummate egotist; his ego is the cen- 
tral point in creation; everything revolves round it — ^‘C’e.st 
moi : apres nous la deluge ” is stamped ineffaceably on every 
word and action.’ 

‘ He seems to me a stupid, fat old man, and oh! so ugly/ 

‘ His stupidity and egotism are synonymous term^ to me it 
is a grand denseness. Few people have a genius for creating 
their own fog. Imagine the serenity of a human being who 
dwells in a moral atmosphere so thick that no hostile criti- 
cism, no unkind opinion, can penetrate it. Fog!-^I have 
used a wrong metaphor : it is more like the rhinoceros’ hide, 
invulnerable to the sharpest dart. When I think of all this 
I could bring myself to envy Monsieur Perrot, in spite of his 
stupidity, his stoutness, and, as I think you a'dded; his ugli- 
ness.’ 

^ You are a philosopher/ 


TffB tlTTLM HOUSE ON THE CLIEE. 141 


/Pardon me, I am nothing of the kind; a philosopher is 
not an impatient, irritable sort of mortal, is he ? Perhaps I 
love to rail on all mankind, like our friend, the melancholy 
Jaques. Are you a student of Shakespeare, Miss Leigh V 
^ My brother Jem reads it to me sometimes. Would you 

mind waiting a moment, Mr. ? ^ 

see, we have not been properly inti oduced— not accord- 
ing to the golden rules of Mrs. Grundy — so I may as well tell 

? ^ou my name is Fleming. There is a wall behind you, if you 
ike to lean upon it ; but I can tell you for your comfort that 
we have not much farther to go/ 

^Are you sure of that ? oh, I am so thankful ! ^ but my 
voice was very faint. 

His only answer was to kneel down in the dusty road and 
gently lift the suffering foot, and place his hand under it as 
a support. 

‘ This will give you a moment’s ease from the strain — I can 
tell from your voice what- you are feeling; without some re- 
lief you will turn faint, and we have still this long road to 
La Maisonnette. If you were not afraid to be left alone in 
this dark road, I would run on and get you some help — may 
I ? I should not be ten minutes away. Are you afraid ? ’ 

^No — o; if — if you will be back soon,’ but it was the big- 
gest fib I ever told in my life. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

^THE LITTLE HOUSE ON THE CLIFF* 

This is not a man to be driven from his temperament without 
some sufficient cause. ^ 

* The MonasieTy/ 

‘I do not take offence easily.’ 

^ Rob Roy/ 

My unpleasant sensations told me that Mr. Fleming was 
right (how strange he should have that name!). A horrible 
feeling of sickness was creeping over me, and but for the re- 
lief his strong hand was giving, I could hardly have borne 
the pain. To my surprise, however, he did not move. 

^Are you not going ? ’ I asked, a minute later. 

5 Ho, certainly not; I must stay now.’ 


142 ms SEARCH EOR BASIL LYNBHtTRST. 

* But why ? ^ 

"As though you do not know; do you always tell fibs. Miss 
Leigh ? your shaky "" No ' was decidedly one just now. You 
are horribly afraid at the idea of being left alone for ten min- 
utes ; I am sorry for it, because I should like to spare you any 
more suffering, but what can I do ? If I dared, I would put 
Reggie down and carry you to La Maisonnette, but I dare not 
run the risk — he might wake up and be frightened, or a 
vehicle might pass with a driver the worse for cider.^ 

"Mr, Fleming! as though I would permit such a thing 

" I am afraid I should not wait for your permission, if it 
were the thing to do; but the fact is, I do not dare. Now, 
will you make one more attempt, for Reggie’s sake? — he is 
so uncomfortable on my shoulder.^ 

I am sure now that he said it to rouse me, for Reggie was 
sleeping most sweetly; but if this were his intention ho suc- 
ceeded, and in anothelr minute I was limping along to the 
best of my ability, in spite of shooting pain and growing 
faintness. Mr. Fleming Kept up a ceaseless flow of talk, but 
I was no longer capable of intelligent interest. I seemed to 
hear disconnected sentences in a sort of dream, then detached 
words: "the farm;’ "take care;’ " a ditch there; ’ ‘alanthorn 
at the gate;’ ‘looking out;’ "sensible people;’ then I was 
dimly conscious that I was more tightly held; a light flashed 
in my face, and, " On, Olga, my poor child I ’ in Aunt Cather- 
ine’s pitying tones; and flien for a moment d knew no more. 

When I regained complete consciousness I was lying on the 
couch in our pretty little salon, and Aunt Catherine was beside 
me. Reggie was curled up, still fast asleep, on an opposite 
couch, and Mr. Fleming was walking across the room with a 
glass of water. 

"Oh, I. am all right now,’ I said feebly; "it was only the 
pain. Aunt Catherine, please thank ,Mr. Fleming; he has 
been so good to me; he must have had a miserable time of it.’ 

"Not quite so miserable as you had;’ but I noticed he 
looked rather pale and tii^d as bespoke. "Miss Leigh has 
behaved like a heroine: I never saw greater pluck. Now 
your fbot must be attended to at once, so I will wish you 
good*=night.’ 

He bowed, and was about to withdraw ; but I put out my 
band impulsively, and Aunt Catherine followed my example.' 

"I do indeed tnank you,’ she said very warmly; and then I 
asked if I might kiss Regfirie, and iMr. Fleming brought him 
to me at once. 

Aunt Catherine did hot harass me with questions when we 


mB LITTLE HOmB OB TUB CLIFF. 


143 


were left alone; she rang for Jeanne to assist me to my room, 
and after fomenting the inflamed and swollen ankle most 
tenderly, she bandaged it as skilfully as a trained nurse would 
have done. 

It was only when I was comfortably in bed, and enjoying 
some sandwiches and a glass of delicious lemonade, that she 
drew from me an account of my accident, and listened with 
the deepest interest. 

^ It was quite an adventure, Olga,^ she said when I had fln- 
ished. * But, my dear, you have given me an hour of terrible 
anxiety; I have been walking up and down the lane, and 
Jeanne has been standing at the gate I do not know how 
long. If you had been ten minutes later I should have gone 
round to Monsieur Perrot for assistance.^ 

‘ Oh, Aunt Catherine, I am so sorry J But indeed I never 
meant to go so far, and creeping home* after this fashion has 
taken me such a time.’ 

‘ Well — well, I will not scold you; you have been punished 
enough. If it had not been for our neighbor you would have 
fared badly. I think I shall write a proper little note of 
thanks in the morning, and tell him how you are or he will 
be calling to inquire. What did you say his name was — not 
Fleming, surely ? ’ and her voice changed a little. 

‘ Yes, it is Fleming; do you think it is any relation . * 

‘ Certainly not,’ she returned promptly. ‘ He is no relation 
of Eobert Fleming — if that is what you mean. I recollect his 
telling me that he had no one belonging to him in the world, 
except an old nncle, and his name was Faber.’ 

^ It is very strange ! ’ I persisted'. 

‘ I do not know why you should say so; Fleming is not such 
an uncommon name, is it ? I knew some people who called 
themselves the Gough-FlOmings. Oh yes; and there was a 
Mrs. Samuel Fleming, too; it is a name I like very much;’ 
and Aunt Catherine played thoughtfully with the fringe of 
the quilt as she spoke. 

After a* moment she began again: 

‘I think on the whole our neighbor behavea very well, 
Olga. He is a gentleman; I liked his voice and manner ex- 
ceedingly.’ 

^ Oh yes ; and he was so kind. He was not a bit stiff really, 
when he saw I was in trouble.’ 

* 1 wonder if I have ever seen him before— I mean in Eng- 
land; his face did not seem quite strange to me.’ 

‘ Nor to me either; how funny! ’ 

‘ No, not funny. The world is not so large, after all, and 


144 ms SSARCXt ROR RASIL LYNDHtlRSf. 


one stumbles upon people in all sorts of unexpected places. 
He is not handsome; I am not quite sure I like his face; his 
eyes are a little cold, and I should judge from his mouth that 
he has a temper. When you see him close he is not so very 
young, after all.’ 

^ How do you mean ? ’ for I was not quite pleased with all 
this criticism. Mr. Fleming had been so kind, so considerate, 
that it did not seem quite fair to him. 

^ Well, he might be seven or eight and twenty — even more. 
There is a worn look about him that hardly belongs to youth. 
Depend upon it, he has known- trouble.’ 

As though I were not as sure of that as Aunt Catherine; 
but I was not going to repeat what I had heard. Could I 
ever forget those bitter, half-mocking words: ‘There is no 
blessed Lethe for us poor human beings; some of us have a 
taste of purgatorial *fires in this world,’ followed by that 
broken, ^ I have you, my one blessing out of all this cursed 
wreck’? That tone of utter hopelessness — what could it 
mean ? 

Aunt Catherine bade me good-night after this, and I was 
glad to be left to my own thoughts. The remedies had given 
me relief, and I was now in tolerable comfort; but all the 
same, sleep seemed to have forsaken me. I tossed restlessly 
and feverishly on my pillow, now recalling the incidents of 
the past evening, and now perplexing myself with curious 
conjectures on the subject of our mysterious neighbor. He 
was a perfect stranger. I had only just learned his name, 
and yet I felt a profound interest in him — his loneliness, his 
melancholy, his strange, reckless words, and the wonderful 
affection that seemed to subsist between him and his boy, had 
somehow stirred the quick sensibilities of my nature. How 
kind and helpful he had proved himself on an emergency ! 
Most men of his age would have been either awkward and 
embarrassed, or else they would have presumed and grown 
faqiiliar; but I could not but own that his behavior had been 
perfect. In a moment he had put me at my ease, by the way 
he seemed to forget himself in his anxiety to be of service. 
Only the truest good-breeding and an innately kind heart 
could have taught him such unselfish courtesy. 

‘If I could only do something for him in return!’ I 
thought, as I lay looking out into the starry daikness, while 
the night breeze, perfumed with the odor of flowers, stole in 
at the open window. ‘If only Aunt Catherine, dear thing 
that she is, were not such a stickler for propriety! if she 
v/ould only make friends with him and find out why he is so 


THE LITTLE HOUSE OH THE CLIFF. 


145 


Unhappy! Why is it wrong, I wonder, to be kind and com- 
panionable with our neighbors, even if they be strangers ? I 
think the world is a stupid place, after all. I suppose we 
shall be obliged to know all sorts of people in heaven.^ 

I suppose my midnight philosophy was not particularly 
wholesome, for Aunt Catherine shook her head when she saw 
me the next morning. 

^ You will just have to stay where you are for the rest of 
the day,^ was the only consolation she gave me; ‘your bad 
night has made you look like a ghost. As I am going down 
to St. Croix this morning, I shall ask Dr. Addison to look at 
your foot.^ 

‘ Oh, Aunt Catherine, do you think that is necessary ? it is 
not a severe sprain ; you said so yourself last night.^ 

‘ No; but you have aggravated it by that long walk, and it 
is as well to be on the safe side. Why, Olga, you look ready 
to cry! Surely one day in your room is not such a terrible 
punishment.^ 

‘ I am so. vexed at my own stupid carelessness, and it is such 
a lovely day I grumbled; ‘think how delicious the shore 
would be this morning.^ 

‘ You may just leave the shore alone, and go to sleep in- 
stead,^ was her unsympathizing answer. ‘I don^t see why 
Kollo need be a prisoner, too, so I shall take him as my escort. 
Geod-by, you tiresome* child but I detained her. 

‘ Shall you write that note, Aunt Catherine ? ^ 

‘Well, I don^t know, ^ dubiously; ‘our neighbor has been 
already to inqilire. He camelbefore I was down, and as 
Jeanne knew nothing about your bad night, she had not 
much to tell him, so he left his compliments and went away.’ 

‘I think a note won i only be civil. We hardly said any- 
thing to him last night ! ’ 

‘Well, I will see about it when I come back, for I have not 
a moment to spare now. I must be at the market early to 
get you some fruit; and there is Dr. Addison and a hundred 
other things;’ and then she called Kollo and left me. 

I spent the morning in sleep. When Dr. Addison exam- 
ined my foot he prescribed a simple remedy and a few days’ 
rest. 

‘ You will not be able to run about for a week or two,’ he 
said — he was a nice old man, and spoke in a sort of fatherly 
way — ^ but there is no need to keep you a prisoner. Get some 
one to carry you out in the garden, or in a day or two you 
might have a drive. Fresh air will do you good, and we must 
not make an invalid of you ! ’ 

10 


146 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


I felt quite cheered by this sensible prescription, and when 
Aunt Catherine returned to my room she told me that she 
and Jeanne had discovered an old wheeled chair in an out- 
house. 

^ So there will be no difficulty at all,^ she went on, ^ in carry- 
ing out Dr. Addison’s advice. Jeanne can wheel you into the 
shade, and we can make up a sort of impromptu couch with 
two or three chairs. And in a day or two you shall have a 
drive.’ 

^ May I go into the garden to-day ?’ 

^ No, not to-day. Dr. Addison thinks you will be better 
where you are;’ for I was lying comfortably outside my bed. 
Then she said, in rather a hesitating manner: ^ There was no 
need for that note, after all, Olga. I encountered Mr. Flem- 
ing in the market, and he walked hack with me. He saw I 
was somewhat laden with the fruit, so he at once oifered to 
assist me. If found him very good company; he seems well 
read and full of information. We talked a good deal about 
Oxford; he is an Exeter man.’ 

‘ Did he say whether he had any profession ? ’ I asked 
eagerly. 

‘ No; he is singularly reticent. It was quite by accident 
he mentioned Exeter. When I was there,” he said, in my 

undergraduate days ” and then he stopped, and spoke of 

something else directly; but he talks exceedingly well.’ 

^ Did you like the look of him better this morning ? ’ was 
my next, question. ^ 

^ I have never disliked the look of him,’ she returned ; ^ but 
his face somehow baffles me. He has such a cold expression 
until he smiles, and then his features seem to light up. It is 
not a happy face, Olga; there are such bitter lines round the 
mouth. But I confess he interests me.’ 

‘And me also.’ 

‘Yes, I know; but we must be careful. There is one thing 
about him that I like — he certainly does not presume; indeed, 
I have a suspicion that he does not wish for our acquaintance. 
But that may be my fancy.’ 

‘ Purely fancy, I should say.’ 

Something in my tone seemed to strike Aunt Catherine, 
for she closed the subject abruptly, by showing me the basket 
of fruit and flowers she had brought; and I was too much 
touched by her thoughtful kindness to say anything more 
about Mr. Fleming. 

An hour later I was lying with my eyes closed, thinking of 
Kitty and the children, when the door softly opened, and 


ms iiTTLs Hoxf^s ojy' ms cliss. 147 

Kollo’s tail liegan to wag in a friendly fashion. The next 
moment something warm and soft darted at me, and Reggie 
scrambled up upon my bed. 

^Take care ol miy poor foot! Oh, you darling! Who 
brought you ? ’ and 1 nearly smothered him with kisses. 

Reggie took them as a matter of course; he was used to 
being loved. He had two or three clover-stalks in his hot 
hand. 

‘ Reggie has picked you f’owers,’ he said proudly. 

* put| who brought you, my sweet ? ’ 

' Lady brougut Reggie,’ he replied promptlv; and then I 
knew Aunt Catherine had contrived this little surprise for 
me. 

Reggie seemed mystified by my apparent laziness. He 
wanted me to get up and play with him, and when I explained 
matters he insisted Rollo should come up too; so we were all 
of a heap together. I told him stories at last to keep him 
quiet. I recollect one was about a little^ white, downy owl 
with round ” ’ id with her children in an 



ivy-bush. 


Reggie repeated this tale 


under the title of ^the howl what lives in the ivy-bush,’ and 
he was so much pleased with it that when I had finished he 
wanted me to begin it all over again. Reggie stayed with 
me some time, and was as good as possible. He went away 
relr :tantjy when Jeanne came to fetch him. 

Monsieur son pere was standing at the little gate, and had 
requested that le petit should be brought to him. 

1 raised myself up when Jeanne had left the room. Yes, I 
could see the gray cap between the branches; he was standing 
by the hammock waiting for his boy. 

" ^ Reggie has forgotten father,’ I could hear him say, as the 
Httle %ure bounded along the gravel walk, and then Reggie 
sprang into his father^ s arms with a merry laugh. 

The next morning I was carefully wheeled by Jeanne into 
my favorite grove^ and there I spent the rest of the day, and 
many succeeding days, very happily with my work and books. 
Reggie was my constant companion; every afternoon, exactly 
at the same time, he would come running down the little path 
and call to me to open the gate. If Aunt Catherine were ab- 
sent, I had to summon Jeanne, Mr. Fleming never mude his 
appearance; once I caught sight of him in the distance, but 
he never obtruded himself. 

Reggie would play happily for hours. At first he could 
not understand why I would not play hide-and-seek with him 
and Rollo, He would run away and hide, and presently 1 


148 THM search for BA^iL LYNBHURbT, 


would hear his dear little voice calling me; but I had to send 
Rollo instead. Oxice he called so long and so imploringly 
that Aunt Catherine accompanied Kollo. 

^ Look at Reggie ! ^ he cried triumphantly. ^ Reggie is Mrs, 
llowl in the ivy-bush.^ 

iSornetimes he lay contentedly in the hammock while I told 
him fresh stories. He did not care for tales about good little 
boys or girls, but a story about a squirrel, a mouse, or a rabbit 
instantly commanded his attention. 

^Ah, ah! Mr, Bunny ,Mie would say, ^ Mr. Fox found you 
out. Go on, my dear;^ for this was the patronizing phrase 
he had adopted for me. I suppose he found ^ the smiling 
lady ^ too long for ordinary occasions. How Aunt Catherine 
laughed when she first heard him I 

^ What a droll little creature he is! ^ she would say; but she 
soon grew excessively fond of him. 

One afternoon, or rather evening, I had my promised drive, 
and I enjoyed it so much that Aunt Catherine told Jules to 
come daily. I was sitting in the fiacre one evening, waiting 
for Aunt Catherine to come out, when I saw Mr. Fleming 
coming up the lane. He was walking rather wearily, and 
Reggie was running on before him. 

Of course Reggie recognized me with a shout; but as I 
leant over the side of the fiacre to warn him from coming too 
close, Mr. Fleming came up hurriedly and lifted him out of 
liarm^s way; and then he could not do less than speak to me. 

^ I am glad to see you out again. Miss Leigh, ^ he said rather 
gravely, and I understood why Aunt Catherine thought his 
face cold, for there was not the gleam of a smile on it. *1 
am afraid you have had a trying time lately.^ 

^ Oh no,^ I replied rather timidly, for his manner did not 
put me at my ease, and he did not seem in the least pleased 
to see me. ‘I have been out in the garden all day, and you 
have been kind enough to spare Reggie to me a good deal, so 
I have not been dull.^ 

Then his face did rela'x a little. 

^ There is no keeping Reggie away; you and Miss Sefton 
have spoiled him. He is always wanting to come to you.^ 

^ I have not kissed my Dear,^ observed Reggie, in such a 
sentimental tone that we both burst out laughing, and after 
that he could not quite stiffen up again. But this friendly 
mood' was brief. 

The next minute Aunt Catlierine came out of the house. 
She seemed pleased to see Mr. Fleming, and shook hands 
with him as he helped her into the carriage. But he responded 


THE LITTLE HOUSE ON THE CLIFF. 149 

in the briefest manner to her pleasant speech, and, taking 
Reggie’s hand, walked on. 

Aunt Catherine looked after him thoughtfully. 

^ Had you been talking long to Mr. Fleming, Olga ? ’ 

^No; only three or four minutes. He did not seem quite 
like himself; he was rather cool in his manner. 

‘ I was thinking the same myself. One cannot help being 
civil, of course; but if you take my advice you will say as 
little as possible to Mr. Fleming. Any attention on our part 
seems to embarrass him. For some reason or other, he cer- 
tainly does not mean to know us. I never saw any other 
young man so reserved, and with whom it was so difficult to 
get on.’ 

I was too much chagrined at Mr. Fleming’s coolness to 
contradict her. And yet how different he had been that 
evening! But it was no use thinking of that. 

In a week’s time I was able to hobble about a little; but it 
was some days after that I went down to the shore for the 
first time since my accident. Aunt Catherine had letters to 
write as usual — to her lawyer, her bailiff, and to one of her 
tenants — indeed, she had business to occupy her until lunch- 
eon. The morning was sultry and sunless, and A unt Catherine 
begged me not to go farther than the little bathing-house, as 
she thought a storm was threatening, and as my opinion coin- 
cided with hers, I readily promised to follow her injunction. 

The hour that followed was not entirely enjoyable. I was 
oppressed by the stillness and airlessness of the atmosphere. 
The bay had a leaden, oily aspect. I was peculiarly suscepti- 
ble to any sombre influences, and I was conscious of a sense 
of heaviness as I looked out on my favorite scene, as though 
I were regarding a dear friend under sinister circumstances. 

By-and-by a few heavy drops warned me. As I put up 
my sketffiing materials hastily, they fell faster and faster. 
As I could only walk slowly, I was slightly damp before I 
had unlocked the door of the bathing-house and iiad taken 
refuge in the tiny room. 

A moment later I heard hasty footsteps; some one was 
dashing up the steep little path leading to our common. To 
my surprise it was Mr. Fleming, with Reggie, as usual, on his 
shoulder. Out of sheer humanity, for the thunder-shower 
was very heavy, I begged him to enter; and without a mo- 
ment’s hesitation he accepted my invitation, and, depositing 
Reggie on the wooden table, began rubbing him down with 
his handkerchief, while Reggie comported himself like a 
frisky little pony. 


150 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL L TNDHURST: 

^ Thank you so inuch for this shelter. Miss Leigh,' he sai^ 
quite cordially.: * I actually dashed past the open door with- 
out seeing it until you called me. I am thankful for Eeggie’s 
sake, for I donT mind a wetting myself; but he is such a 
delicate little fellow.' 

^ Oh, I hope he has taken no harm,' for his sailor suit felt a 
little damp. 

^ Oh no, the rain will soon be over; it is too violent to last. 
Will you not sit down, Miss Leigh ? I see you still walk 
rather lamely; ' and he brought me one of the wooden cha‘'’3, 
and took the oth r himself. 

Mr. Fleming's manner had decidedly thawed since our last 
meeting. Perhaps he considered it was his duty to entertain 
me in return for my hospitality; for he began talking about 
the book he had under his arm, and asked if I had read it. 
I forget its title, but he gave me a resume of the contents 
and criticised it in a masterly fashion. I wished Aunt Cath- 
erine could have heard him. After that, he sat looking down 
at the bay, while Eeggie played at his feet with Eollo. 

•'Isn't that grand. Miss Leigh?' he said presently.. do 
like looking at a large expanse of water; it gives me such a 
sense of freedom.' 

There was a strange intensity in his expression as he 
watched the dark water and the driving rain, and some im- 
pulse made me say : 

^ You speak as though freedom were the chief blessing to 
be desired in life.' 

^So it is,' he answered shortly, and his eyes were still fixed 
on the bay; ^ there is nothing to compare Vith it in my opin- 
ion; and yet how few men are really free!' 

‘ How do you mean, Mr. Fleming ? ' 

He turned round and gave me a quick searching glance, as 
though my question disturbed him. 

^Oh, it is not easy to explain my meaning;' and there was 
a tinge of impatience in his voice. ‘ There is very little free- 
dom in this world, after all. It is a little hard, is it not ? 
that some have to pay a life-long penalty for some youthful 
error; but so it is.' He sighed, and drew Eeggie between his 
knees; and as the child looked up in his face, his expression 
softened. ‘ Never mind, Eeg, old fellow. Freedom is a sweet 
sort of mistress; but I would not take her in exchange for 
you.' 

I thought it better to change the subject by saying I hoped 
the rain would soon be over, as Aunt Catherine would be get- 
ting anxious at my delay. 


THE LITTLE HOUSE OH THE CLIFF. 


151 


^Oh, I hope not/ he returned, going to the door; ^you gave 
her anxiety enough the other evening. Miss Sefton is your 
aunt, is she not, Miss Leigh ? ’ 

He certainly looked mystified when I exlained that- she was 
no relation. 

^ But you call her Aunt Catherine,^ he persisted. 

^Oh, that is only our pet name for her. Jem calls her that, 
too. Jem is my brother, Mr. Fleming, and w,e both live with 
a married, brother, who is a clergyman. Aunt Catherine — 
Miss Sefton I mean — is only a neighbor, and she lives with 
her sister, Mrs. Lyndhurst, at a beautiful place close by — 
Brookfield Hall. They are such dear creatures, the Ladies, 
as we call them, and we are so fond of them.^ 

Yes, I see,’ and his manner betrayed some interest; ^ these 
adopted relationships are often very close — sometimes as close 

as real flesh and blood ones. I knew of a case once ’ then 

he stopped abruptly. 

‘You knew of a case once, Mr. Fleming?’ I repeated, as a 
sort of encouragement to him to proceed, but he returned 
quickly : 

‘Oh> it is nothing; it would not interest you in the least! ’ 

‘I believe you think nothing interests us,’ I replied, rather 
piqued at this sudden reticence. ‘ I mean ^ — for- he looked 
perplexed at this — ‘at least. Aunt Catherine says that she is 
sure you do not want to have anything to do with us; that 
you would rather not, in fact.’ 

I blushed with annoyance the moment I made this im- 
pulsive speech. I could not think what made me say such a 
thing; but somehow his manner provoked me so, it was so 
cool and guarded, just as though he were on his defence 
against us — as though we were his natural enemies. 1 am 
sure at that moment that I disliked him heartily. 

To my surprise he answered- me with the utmost gentleness. 

‘Why do you say that?'’ he replied, almost as though he 
were speaking to Reggie. ‘ Why should you think me so un- 
grateful ? It is not right to misjudge any one* What if I 
do not consider myself worthy of your acquaintance ? What 
you think an unbecoming reserve may be only my way of 
showing my respect.’ 

‘ Mr. Fleming,’ I stammered, ‘ i^ it because you are poor 
that you do not consider yourself bur equal ? ’ 

Then he smiled. 

‘Ho, Miss Leigh; I am too much of a philosopher to fear 
comparison of that sort. My poverty is an extraneous cir- 
cumstance that has nothing to do with me; but you ar^ 


152 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 

wrong. Though I do not seek acquaintance, i take a great 
deal of interest in the kind ladies who are so good to my boy. 
There, the rain is over. Do you think we may venture now r ^ 

' Oh yes; I think so.^ 

My cheeks were burning. How gently, yet with what dig- 
nity, he had rebuked my rudeness! He was not even vexed 
' with me for my presumption. As we went out together, and 
he followed me up the little path between the dripping gorse- 
bushes, he talked in the pleasant way he hM talked that 
evening; and when we parted at the door of La Maisonnette, 
he held out his hand for the first time. 

^ Good-by, Miss Leigh,^ he said, with a clear, open glance 
of amity. ^ Please give my compliments to Miss Sefton; ^ and 
he looked so friendly that I ventured to say : 

* I am afraid I have been very rude. Mr. Fleming. Please 
forgive me.^ 

^ Why, what nonsense ! ^ he said heartily. ^ I have nothing 
in the least to forgive; ^ and then he shook hands with me 
again. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

CATHERII^ SEFTON’S RETROSPECT. 

‘ Seek not much rest, biu much patience.* 

Thomas A Kempis. 

‘The graves grow thicker, and life’s ways more bare, 

As years and years go by ; 

Nay 1 thou h^t more green gardens in thy care, 

And more stars in the sky. 

Behind, hopes turned to griefs, and joys to memories. 

Are fading out of sight ; 

Before, pains changed to peace, and dreams to certainties. 

Are glowing in God’s light.’ 

‘ Lyra Mystica, 

There is one lesson that I think we all learn better as we 
grow older, and that is submission to the discipline of life. 

Youth is slow to comprehend the inevitable laws that govern 
human existence. They turn away their eyes with natural 
reluctance from the dangers and pitfalls that threaten their 
future peace. To-morrow is not to-day; the- present, so joy- 
ous, so strewn with flowers — ^that is sufficient for these 


CATHERINE SEFTON'S RETROSPECT 


153 


thoughtless minds. Age, with its sad environment, is still 
far away in the misty distance — away with all these prophets 
of evil. ‘Let us eat and drink Oh yes I is. that not their' 
light-hearted philosophy ? 

I thank the Fatherly Wisdom above that such things should 
be — that these children just entering upon life are so merer 
fully blinded, so pathetically ignorant of the difficulties anc^ 
sorrows that’will beset their path later on. But with us who 
are older it is different. What woman of forty-five — yes, it 
is I, Catherine Sefton, who ask the question — what woman of 
forty-five can look back on the years of her life without a 
sigh of regret, without a repressed shiver, as the shadows of 
the past seem to enfold her ? 

Ah ! we know now what life means, as we look back over 
the years. There was work that we set about sq gladly, so 
eagerly, and yet left unfinished; there were friendships that 
h&d been broken, promises unfulfilled, hopes that had been 
frustrated, good intentions that had come to an untimely 
end; those who had loved us had passed within the veil; 
others had disappointed us; where we had expected to find 
consolation we found vacancy. Who wdll not verify these 
words ? Who has not experienced this bitter discipline ? Is 
it not written in the good book, that ‘ through much tribula- 
tion Well, can we not finish that sentence for our- 

selves ? 

But I am no pessimist. Like other women, I have kept 
my journal of mercies : I have had my glad times — my golden 
opportunities. When joy fled, Pe’ace — tender and abiding — 
Las taken me by the hand and led me gently on. Would you 
know what she whispered to me at the hour of my "greatest 
desolation — when I parted with the man whom I honored 
above all men ? ‘ It is but for a time. This life — ^^this ante- 
chamber, where the grown-up children learn their lessons; 
where they do. their painful tasks; where the problems they 
are studying are not clear to their comprehension — this is 
but the beginning — the childhood of life : beyond is the real 
life, where all shall be solved, and the parted shall be reunited 
forever.^ 

I had had much to try me. When I was quite young the 
burden of a sisteFs wrecked happiness had been laid on me — 
the daily and hourly responsibilities of helping a weak, morbid 
nature to bear a trouble that seemed too hea,vy for it. I take 
no credit to myself for this; many a woman has had: a like 
burden, and has borne it far more bravely, than 1. I loved 
Virginia; she was my only sister; but I was not always patient 


154 THE SEARCH FOR BABIL LYHBHURST. 


with her. She had wrought her own woe. There were times 
when I would speak strongly to her of the duty of bearing 
more cheerfully the penalty of her own weakness. When I 
told her that no private grief should ever shadow the peace 
of a household, she would listen to me meekly. ‘ You are 
right, Cathy; you are always righV that is what she would 
say to me. But the cloud never lifted; the next day it would 
be the same: the old sadness, the shrinking from strange 
faces, the want of interest, the selfrabsorbed, morbid depres- 
sion; no, she could not help it, my poor Virginia; the poison 
had entered into her very being; her nature was not strong 
enough to rally ; she was simply crushed. 

Life could not be very gay at the Hall under these circum- 
stances, but I had my own interests. I was proud of bearing 
an old and honored name; the charge of our estates gave me 
plenty of active work; our tenants, the poor people round 
us, the ordering of our household, and the interchange of 
civility with our neighbors, filled up one busy day after an- 
other, and left me no time to think of my own happiness. If 
only Virginia would have worked too! but she was too spirit- 
less, too much unnerved by her unhealthy breedings; after a 
time I had. to leave her alone. 

It has always been my opinion that a single woman should 
create her own interests ai^d ties. I know that my affection 
for Olga brought much happiness into my life, and I grew 
almost to regard her as my adopted child ; J em was very dear 
to me, too, but he was not Olga. 

I never knew any girl like her! She was not specially 
clever, nothing out of the common, but there was a freshness 
and sweetness about her> a sprightly sort of gentleness that 
entirely won my heart; Few young girls are restful. Olga 
was singularly so; her nature had no abrupt angles; there 
was a wonderful serenity about her; she had no moods; she 
was always just herself, simple, affectionate, unselfish. 

I think the great secret of her charm lay in her complete 
unconsciousness; she never seemed to be thinking of other 
people’s opinion; she wished to be loved, but she gave herself 
no uneasiness on the subject; her affections were very strong; 
she was capable of any amount of self-sacrifice for those she 
loved ! Perhaps her chief danger lay in her sympathy for 
others, her generosity often outstript her prudence; if she 
could help others, she was willing to run any risk herself. 

I remember the little an^Hjdote that Jem once told me of 
th^ir childish days; it«was so characteristic of Olga: she was 
ready now to scorch herself in any good cause, to try her 


CATHERINE SEFTONR RETROSPECT. 155 

powers, to approach the impossible too closely! I could fancy 
her still crying out with childish petulance, ‘Oh! Jem, ft 
hurts ! ^ for she was one who could suffer keenly. The one 
flaw in her character was a certain difficulty in understanding 
lower or more prosaic natures, in making allowances, in giv- 
ing out her best to them ; and yet when she really loved any 
one it was marvellous how she overlooked their defects, how 
she gave them credit for fabulous virtues. I am thinking of 
Jem, who, after all, was not more romantic than other young 
men of his age* 

But with poor Mr. Leigh it was different. Olga was never 
entirely just to him; even Jem told her so. A certain slow- 
ness of comprehension, a tedious mannerism, a few surface 
faults, blinded her to his excellences. I never knew a better 
man; as a clergyman, he was faultless, and his single-hearted 
loyalty to his frail, worn wife was touching beyond measure. 
To borrow an oft-used expression, he simply worshipped the 
ground she walked on. 

I used to scold Olga sometimes v/hen I was in a lecturing 
mood. ‘ It is always, Jem, Jem ! ^ I said once, ‘ never Hubert ; 
and yet what a good brother ne is ! Has he ever said a hard 
word to you ? ^ 

‘ No, never/ she replied quite meekly, for she knew she de- 
served my scolding. 

‘He is good as gold!’ I went on; ‘he never thinks olhim- 
self — you have often told me so; it is always his wife, or Lis 
children, or you, or Jem! he is so fond of you both, Olga.’ 

‘Yes, I know,’ looking very much ashamed of herself. 

‘And yet it is always "Jem I— oh, I grant you Jem is charm- 
ing; I like him better than any other young man of my 
acquainance. He is a fine fellow— a very fine fellow — but he 
is not better than his elder brother.’ 

‘Why should you compare them?’ she asked reproach- 
fully; ‘they are totally different. Jem is Jem; and as for 
Hubert ’ 

‘Well, what about Hubert ?’ 

‘ Oh, he provokes me — he is so dense!— but, all the same, 1 
am very fond of him. I am not li^^e Kitty, perhaps, but, 
then, Kitty is his wife. If I had a husband I should swear 
by him, of Course.’ 

And then the naughty child went off singing to herself, 
just as though I had made no impression on her; but I never 
lost an opportunity of speaking a good word for Mr. Leigh. 

Virginia was very much attached to Olga— :-she always said 
that she was like a sunbeam in the house. Once or twice. 


156 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 


when we were sitting together in the long winter evenings, 
she would drop some word about her that I found it difficult 
to answer. 

^We are growing old, Cathy she said once; 'and if we 
should never find BasiP — ^and then she looked at me mean- 
ingly — ' if we should have to seek for an heir — and we should 
have none of our own fiesh and blood — then there is Olga.^ 

I remember the sudden pang I felt when she first said this, 
and how the blood seemed to rush to my heart for a moment. 
Had it come to this ? were we so poor, so deprived of all na- 
tural ties, that we must leave a neighbor to inherit our lands ? 
Must the Seftons die out ? Were we two lonely women the 
last of our race ? 

' We must find Basil,’ I returned; and in spite of myself my 
voice faltered. 

But Virginia was in one of her dark moods. 

' Basil ma} be dead,’ she whispered ; and I shrank a little 
at her tone. ' How can we find my boy if they have buried 
him out of sight ? We are growing old, Catherine, and who is 
to live here in our stead ? is it to be Jem or Olga ?’ 

'It is to be neither,’ I exclaimed; I know I answered her 
with a sort of impatience. ' How do we know Basil is dead ? 
and the property is his. I will not lose the hope of finding 
him. You are his mother, Virginia; it is for you to hope 
too.’ 

' I think I am tired of hoping,’ she returned, with a gentle- 
ness that simply exasperated me. ' I have hoped so long — 
and if he should be dead ’ 

I cannot explain how all this reiteration vexed me. It was 
only poor Virginia’s way — her method of tormenting herself ; 
but to-night it was simply unbearable. I fiung away from 
the room as that last dreary sentence rang in my ears — ' if he 
should be dead ! ’ 

Well, it might be so; Basil might be lying in his grave; 
but for all that, why should it be Olga — Olga, whom I so 
dearly loved, but who was not our own flesh and blood ? We 
could remember her; oh yes, there were other ways of show- 
ing our affection — but what had she done that this rich in- 
heritance should be hers ? why should her simple, happy life 
be spoilt by all this weight and responsibility ? 

' It is not for Olga,’ I said to myself; ' and yet to whom 
could it all go ? ’ and as I asked the question, the thought 
flitted through my mind — a sudden memory of one who had 
been poor all his life, and had done good work with only a 
scanty reward; who had toiled and grown gray in his Master’s 


cAmmim retro^pfct. 


157 . 


feervice, without asking for His good things. Would not 
wealth be of infinite use to such a one ? — talent^ a glorious 
talent, to be spent for others; would not hundreds be bene- 
fited, as well as he ? 

I went about with this thought looked up in my breast for 
many a day, but I never spoke of it to any one. Now and 
then Virginia would revert to the old subject; — ^^if he should 
be dead,^ but I always soothed her with the hope of a living 
Basil' 

There was plenty of time; by-and-by, in a year or two, I 
might speak another name, that had not been mentioned be- 
tween us for five-and-twenty years. Would Virginia thiftk 
me mad ? would she again plead Cigars cause ? Time: would 
show. Meanwhile the thought soothed me; pernaps one day 
it might all belong to Kobert Fleming, It made me happier 
to think of this, and how he would care for all our poor pebple. 
Perhaps he might even take the name of Sefton, to pleasb his 
long-lost friend. 

I know few young persons would give a middle-aged womah 
credit for such romance; but the heart is slow ingrowing old, 
and I had a tenacious memory. I could have mairjed over 
and over again, but I had never seen a man to compare with 
Eobert. ‘ If it be not Robert, it will be no one,^ I had cried 
to my father with passionate girlish -despair;, but he had 
Aswered with an incredulous smile. Well; I had been right 
— it was no one. 

Sometimes, when Olga looked at me in the innocent way 
that was natural Jo her, my whole heart seemed to go out to 
the child, but, all the same, I would say to myself: 

^I am not wronging her — there will be plenty for her and 
Jem. She will not misjudge me, because when I had the 
power to make her a rich woman I withheld my hand — be- 
cause I selected a faithful steward, and kept it all for him.^ 

No; I was not afraid of Olga. There was nothing nier- 
cenary in her nature; she loved us and was grateful to us for 
our kindness, but no speculation on the future ever entered 
her thoughts. 

I was in this unsettled state of mind when the report 
reached us of Paul LyndhursFs death. It came to ns in a 
strange, roundabout way, and was terribly vague and unsat- 
isfactory. He had been dead for years, but no one knew of 
the fact but a certain Pere Lefevre, one of the clergy of 
TEglise de St. Sulpice at St. Genette. 

Our hopes of ever finding Our rightful heir Basil had by 
this time ebbed very low indeed, but as this faint clue reached 


168 THM ^BAnCH FOR SASIL LYNDHURST. 

ns, it was wonderful now they revived again. When Virginia 
looked in' my face with yearning eyes, &it without speaking, 
I knew what the words were that she left unuttered: 

^ You will go to St. Genette and see P^re Lefevre. Perhaps 
on his deathbed Paul may have mentioned his son;^ arid I 
answered as though she had really spoken : 

‘ Yes : I will go.' 

In my own heart, I was glad that any action was possible; 
all these years there had been nothing that I could do. How 
could I have left Virginia to search for Basil? But now, 
when she bade me go, I could leave her with a clear conscience. 

But I did not know what need there would be of patience, 
or of the long weeks of waiting that lay before us. At first I 
chafed sadly at the delay, but a letter from Virginia reassured 
me. 

^ Yes, it is hard,' she wrote; ^but I am used to disappoint^ 
ment; and you must not trouble so much about me. It is 
needless to say how I miss you~the faithful sister who has 
become a necessity to me; but though the Hall is empty 
without you, Cathy, I would not have you back, for worlds. 
Stay where you are, and let us both try to be patient. You 
have Olga ; the dear child will not let you be dull, No ; you 
must not come back until you can bring me word that I am 
a free woman, and that Basil — ah I I dreamt oi him last night : 
he held out his hand, and said " Mother," and 1 woke weep-r 
ing for the very sweetness of the dream.' 

After this I banished all uneasy scruples, and tried to enjoy 
our pleasant unconventional life. 

I began to love La Maisonnette almost as much as Olga did. 
I liked our cozy salon, and the great bare salle-^manger, with 
its open glass doors and shady coolness. Sometimes, as we 
sat at our meals, the chickens would peck at the crumbs be- 
side us; Eollo used to watch them furtively, and growl from 
time to time, but he never dared to chase them away — only 
Jeanne would come clattering over the floor, and drive them 
off with loud protestations. 

^One might as well dine in the poultry-yard!' she would 
say, with a toss of her head, as one cackling chicken after an- 
other fled into the courtyard. ^Poof! it makes one hot, too 
— the aggravating fowls 1 ' 

I must confess our neighbor at the pavilion interested me 
greatly, though I tried to hide this feeling from Olga. In- 
deed, it was for her sake solely that 1 did not make any over- 
tures toward intimacy. 

A girl is a serious responsibility, especially a warm-heanted. 


cAmmim retrospect. 


159 


impulsive creature like Olga, who was capable of setting Mrs. 
Grundy at defiance if she could only perform a kind actioh 
to a fellow-creature. In spite of her innate refinement, one 
found it very difficult to make her understand the little 
niceties and readjustments that are necessary in our inter- 
course with the other sex; her very innocence and kindness 
of heart made her bolder than other girls, and her uncon- 
sciousness added to the danger. 

Judge my dismay, then, at finding an interesting young 
widower located at our very back-door — a widower, too, under 
very questionable circumstances, and evidently as poor as a. 
church-mouse. Unknown to Olga, I had questioned' Monsieur 
Perrot about his lodger, but his replies had been very unsat- 
isfactory. 

Monsieur was poor, certainly; he had affirmed the fact. 
He— Monsieur Perrot— was standing one evening at his door 
talking to madame, and cet jeune monsieur had addressed 
him. Madame wished to know how long ago. Well, perhaps 
a montli or five weeks — a few days before madame had come 
to La Maisonnette. 

‘ Not longer ago than that ? ^ 

^ Mais non, certainement ; madame could verify the fact, for 
she came out and kissed le petit, who was asleep in monsieur’s 
arms. Madame thought it was his little brother, but monsieur 
only smiled and shook his head. Then they had got into 
conversation, and monsieur stated that he was looking for a 
lodging — some quiet place that was not too dear. Monsieur 
owned his poverty frankly: 

^ I have only a little,’ he said in a bright sort of way; ^ when 
I have spent that, our holiday will bo over. I want it to last 
as long as possible,^ and then he had frowned as though some 
uneasy thought troubled him. 

'And you offered him the pavilion, monsieur ? ' 

'Well, it was madame’s thought,’ he returned, pushing his 
old blue velvet cap rakishly over one ear. ‘ She had fallen in 
love with le petit, and, indeed, he was a little angel of beauty.’ 

' If one might put a few things in the pavilion,’ she said, 
and monsieur had Caught at the notion at once. It was dirty 
and full of litter; but, all the same, nothing had suited him 
so w^ell. 

' It is a hermitage,’ he> cried — ^'a lodge in a garden of cucum- 
bers. Look at that sunset — those windows looking out on 
the apple-trees.’ Ma foi, monsieur was easily contented. He 
and madame bargained over the matters like two children— 
like chattering magpies. There must be a bed; as for a bath 


160 ms &iS!AncII for basil lyndhuestj 

there was the bay; but a table, even some ciiairS> were neces- 
sary. A stove — ^good ; he would have excellent coffee. The 
bread and the milk for le petit — ^nothing was wanting. Din- 
ner could be had at a restaurant. It would be a life after his 
own heart. 

* Wake up, Reggie, and s6^e thy hew abode^the other edition 
of the old curiosity shop.^ 

Oh, it was droll to hear him, and to See le pbtit clap the 
hands! How interesting Olga would have found all this! 
but I dared not tell her. I dared not excite her sympathy 
= and pity by describing the poor fellow’s boyish transport at 
the sight of the bare-looking pavilion. There was a touch of 
poetry in those few words : ‘ Look at that sunset ’—as though 
he habitually lived above his surroundings. 

‘We are ourselves in spite of our environment,' he had said 
to me as we walked together that afternoon from the market-^ 
place. 

I found it difficult to forget that talk. It was the (fionver^^ 
sation of a man who had thought much and suffered, much^ 
and whose faith in humanity had become impaired. Every 
now and then there was a bitter, half-mocking speech that 
jarred upon me, as though under the boyish manner there 
lurked a hidden depth and undercurrent. I hardly know how 
to describe the impression it made on me. I felt as though I 
must take his hand and beg him to be silent : ‘ It is not so. 
There are yet good people in th3 world ; high aims, lofty 
principles. Throw away this black pessimism, this garbage 
that no one wants, and open your eyes to the better side of 
life;’ but he was a stranger, and I could not say this. 

He interested me profc undly. Indeed, he was never out 
of my thoughts; but, all the same, lie repelled me. The dark 
intent face and cold gray eyes haunted me. I used to ask 
myself curiously whether I liked or disliked him; for a long 
time I could not answer this question. I used to be sorry 
when Olga met him. The night of the accident I had an 
uneasy feeling when I saw him with her. 

‘ Will you take my boy ? ’ he had said to me quickly, almost 
peremptorily; ‘Miss Leigh ha§ 'hurt her foot and is very 
faint;’ and then he had lifted her up as though she were as 
light as Reggie, and carried her into the house. ‘ She has been 
very brave, but the pain has been too much for her,’ he said 
as he went to the sideboard for cold water. 

It struck me then, from his manner, that he had been used 
to illness — he was so quiet and helpful. 

But in spite of my old-maidish scruples, there was no keep- 


CATHBRINM SJSFTOIi^S HRTHOSPJSCT. 


161 


ing Olga and Reggie apart. The child had taken a fwcy to 
her. Every day we heard his little voice shouting to us to 
open the gate; and then he would come bounding tlurough it, 
and fling himself into her arms. It was so pretty to see them 
together; Olga had such gentle winning ways "^th children. 

I am sure that it was his gentlemanly instinct that kept 
Mr. Fleming at a distance — :how strange he should hav^ that 
name I — for he was very grateful to us for our kindness to 
Reggie; but, all the same, he did not wish for any intimacy. 
I have seen him avoid us more than once, or pass us with a 
bow, and I often begged Olga to be equally distant. 

I was rather amazed, then, when I heard of the rencontre 
at the bathing-house; and still more so when she repeated^ 
her impulsive speech. 

‘ Why am I so foolishly outspoken. Aunt Catherine ? * she 
asked in quite a piteous voice. ‘ I mean to be so careful, and 
then the words somehow escape me. Jem is right — it is my 
own fault that I get into so many scrapes.' 

' It is better to think before one speaks,' I replied with un- 
usual severity; but really the child had been so foolish. 

To my dismay she suddenly burst into tears. 

^Oh, I am so ashamed of myself!' she cried; ^ and you say 
nothing to comfort me. Mr. Fleming will think — oh ! I do 
not know what he will think; but no one could have been 
kinder.' 

* He will only think that you want to be friends ; your little 
reproach meant nothing but that. Mr. Fleming is a man of the 
world; he will not misunderstand a little bit of girlish pique.' 

‘ You are making it worse,' she returned; and I could see 
she was much put out. ‘ What business have I to wish to know 
any gentleman who shows so much reluctance to know me ? 
My pride ought to have prevented me from making such a 
speech; but it was just his loneliness and unhappiness — oh, I 
am sure he is unhappy 1 — that made me long for us to be his 
friends. I thought how much gopd you might do him. But 
there, how often you have told me not to enact the part of 
Providence, and so I have brought this humiliation on my- 
self.' 

^ But it is nothing — ^a mere nothing, my dear Olga. How 
can you exaggerate a few words ? ' 

^ It is not a mere nothing to be misunderstood,’ she replied 
with much dignity. ^Aunt Catherine, why do you not com- 
prehend my meaning ? I am right to be angry with myself ; 
I made a foolish speech to a stranger; I am glad I asked his 
pardon for my impertinence; I am glad he answered me so 


162 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURST. 

kindly. My one hope now is, that I may never have an op- 
portunity of speaking to Mr. Fleming again; ^ and the dear 
child marched out of the room with her pretty little he^^d as 
erect as possible. 

Certainly I was right in saying Olga^s impulsiveness would 
lead her into trouble. If Mr. Fleming had not been a gentle- 
man — well, I know many a man would have taken advantage 
of that innocent little speech, and made it the basis for a 
lively flirtation. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

A STRANGE NIGHT, 

‘ Hast thou gone sadly through a dreary night. 

And found no light ; 

No guide, no star, to cheer thee through the plain— 

No friend, save pain ? 

Wait, and thy soul shall see, when most forlorn. 

Rise a new morn.’ 

ADBLAmE Anne Proctor. 

The next morning, as we were sitting over our breakfast 
and reading our letters, I noticed that Olga changed color, 
and knit her brows as though something, disturbed her. 

^ Is Jem treating you to one of his fraternal lectures ? ^ I 
asked, anxious to find out what was amiss. 

^ Jem writes rather strangely,^ she replied in a very low 
voice. ‘ I think you had better read what he says;^ and she 
laid down the letter before me, and went on with her break- 
fast.. And then she added, a moment later; ^ You see, I have 
always been accustomed to tell Jem everything. I like him 
to know all about my friends, and every one ; he is so sensible 
and sympathetic. I never knew him take notions into his 
head before/ 

I made no answer to this. Before I read a word I under- 
stood that Jem disliked the idea of our new acquaintance, and 
I was right. The passage Olga pointed out to me was as fol- 
lows: 

^And now I want to say a word to you, and I hope Aunt 
Catherine will excuse my interference. I think that you 
ought to be very careful before you pick up new acquaint- 


163 


A STRAmE NIGHT. 

ances in that outlandish place; You are such a soft-hearted 
goose, Olga, and — begging her pardoh — Aunt Catherine is 
not exactly v/hat one would call a woman of the world * — what 
a rude boy! — ‘and I think you want some one to look after 
you both-r-you two poor unprotected females! Kow .1 do 
not half like the idea of this fellow at the pavilion — what in 
the world is a pavilion? — he does not seem altogether square. 
I think you said his name was Fleming; try and find out his 
Christian name. There was a man of that name at Exeter — 
before my time, of course — who was the tip-top of all the riff- 
raff there, and who did not bear the best of characters. I 
think his name was Gerard, or Bertram; I can find out which. 
He was confoundedly clever, and all that — that kind of fellow 
always is^but he made a mess of his career by marrying be- 
neath him. I think the girl was in some shop; but nobody 
knows exactly, only he vanished as though the earth had 
swallowed him up. Now, I don’t say this man is your hermit 
of the pavilion, but it looks uncommonly like it, and if you 
will take my advice you will have very little to do with him. 
You may show this to Aunt Catherine if you like, for she is 
a sensible woman, and will not mind my taking the liberty of 
cautioning you both. Write again soon. 

^ Your affectionate brother, Jem.^ 

I hardly knew, what to say as I handed the letter back to 
Olga. It had made me desperately uncomfortable. I did so 
hate suspecting people. 

^ Jem may be right, you know; he is very sharp. He has 
all the makings of the future lawyer about him.’ 

To my alarm, Olga burst out with a passionate remonstrance. 

‘ I call that too bad. Aunt Catherine. You are condemning 
Mr. Fleming without proof, just because Jem, chooses to 
interfere and make ridiculous statements. That is quite a 
version of “ Give a dog a bad name, and hang him ! ” ’ 

‘ My dear Olga! ’ 

^Many young men have been wild at Oxford; but they 
have- turned out very well for all that, and he may have re- 
pented of his follies. Why should we refuse to make any 
allowances for him ? ’ 

‘You think, then, that Jem’s Mr. Fleming is the same as 
ours ? ^ . 

‘It looks very much like it,’ she roturnea reluctantly. 
.‘ You surely remember. Aunt Catherine, that he told you that 
he had been at Exeter ? I am afraid that corroborateMt* 
He may efen have married beneath him ’ 


164 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURSTl 


Sh^ stopped and twisted her hands nervousfy together It 
was a habit of hers when anything troubled her for whi'ch she 
could, find no reaso 

^ Well, my dear, will you not finish your senrence 

' I hardly know how to explain my meanings I am bitleriy 
diasppointed to think that Mr* Fleming could Rave contracted 
a low marriage — he seems too refined, too cultured altogether. 
But perhaps he was young, and the girl was pretty; anyhow, 
I think we ought to be sorry for hini, for he must- have had 
much to bear. Perhaps, after all, it is a good thing that his 
wife is dead.^ 

‘I thought you would have judged him more severely^' 

^ I don^t seem as though I could find it in my heart to h& 
hard on him ; he is too unhappy. Aunt Catherineii- l am euro 
that he has repented and is sorry; perhaps that is what he 
liTeant about not being worthy of our friendship; He may 
hold himself aloof for that very reason, and I am to judge himx 
harshly ! ^ 

^No, Olga, I did not say that; only the world will turn a 
cold shoulder on him. A gentleman has ho right to marry 
beneath him. How can he expect his friends to be the same 
to him afterwards ? ^ 

^ There may be justifying circumstances,' she returned 
firmly, ^ or he might have been very young. Aunt Catherine. 
Jem may say what he likes; but he does not know Mr. Flem- 
ing. He has never seen him with Eeggie; if he liad, I don^t 
think he would be quite so hard on him.^ 

^ ^11 the same, he has made me very uncomfortable. 

^ That is so wrong of him; and, after ail, we have found out 
fiothing.^ 

^ No, but we shall never feel quite easy until we know if 
Jem be right of not Well, it is no use talking about it any 
more. Time will show, I suppose, whether Mr. Fleming is a 
desirable acquaintance, ^'em will never rest until he has 
sifted matters — he will find out ail about him, and then write 
to us again — and I suppose we must v/ait for that.^^ 

^And until then you will keep him at a distance : 

On the contrary, he keeps himself at a distance, but I shall 
certainly do my best to avoid him. 1 cannot help it, Olga,^ 
as she looked at me reproachfully; for this was not her idea 
of fairness. ^ Jem is right: we are two unprotected females, 
and must take care of ourselves; and, after all, Mr. Fleming 
may be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’ 

And then I carried away my letters, for what was the use 
of prolonging the argument ? Olga never could be induced 


4 STRANGE NIGHT. 


165 


to speak severely of any sinner, however black Be might be7 
To her sweet nature it was a sort of necessity to think the 
best of every one. She would even have been sorry for the 
poor wolf: he must have been so hungry before he had eaten’ 
the sheep, as she would have said. Olga went alone to the 
shore that morning, and after luncheon we drove, to StJ 
Genette. Olga seemed a little tired on her return, and for a 
Wonder betook herself to a couch in the salon; but I heard 
her Question Jeanne if Keggie had been to the little gate as 
usual. 

Jeanixe had eplied, to her surprise, in the negative; 
l^othing had been seen of le petit. ‘ That is strange,^ had 
been O^a^s response; ‘Reggie has never foiled me before;* 
and then she had taken up her book and said nothing more. 

As I was not tired, I went out into the garden and strolled 
about a little. I could not help feeling somewhat home-sick J 
I wished I wefO in the old English garden with Jasper spread- 
ing his tail on the mossy old sundial. The peaches and nec- 
tarines must be ripening on the sunny walls, and the flower- 
borders would be a glowing mass of colors. I wondered if 
Virginia were pacing the Lady^s Walk as usual, with her pale. 
Bad face turned to the sunset. I was so busy with these re- 
flections that a slight sound near me quite startled me. To 
my surprise, and I may add annoyance, it was Mr. Fleming 
unlatching the Mttle gate. I could scarcely believe my eyes 
when I saw him deliberately unfasten it and come quickly 
towards nae. 

‘ I be^ your pardon. Miss Sefton, for this intrusion,* he* be- 
gan hastily; ‘but I am in great anxiety about Reggie; he 
looks very ill, and I am going for the English doctor, if you 
will kindly tell me where he lives ? * 

‘Reggie ill ?* In a moment my brief annoyance vanished. 

‘ Yes, and I do not know what is the matter with him. He 
has been very sick, and seems in a high fever. Will, you tell 
me to whom I had better go ? There is no time to be lost, as 
he is all alone.* He looked at me wistfully and hesitated. 
But there is no need for him to say any more. 

‘That child alone! I will go to him at once; of course, I 
will stay with hi^ while you are away.* 

‘ Oh, how good you are! * he said - earnestly, and I am sure' 
there were tears in his eyes; he seemed terribly agitated. ‘ B 
wanted to ask you, but I hardly dared to make such a request. 
1 have locked nim in, because he seems wandering a little; 
but I could not bear leaving him alorie, poor little chap ! But 
if you wUl stop with him * 


166 'THE BEAUOH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

He did not Wait to finish his sentence, but dashed iip tEa 
steps and unlocked the door. I could hear Reggie’s voice 
talking rather excitedly as I entered. But befor j looking at 
him, I gave Mr. Fleming the necessary directions. ^ If Dr. 
Addison should be out, there is his partner, Mr. Dodd, in the 
Rue d’ Accord; they are both clever men,’ I finished. 

He nodded as though he understood me, and ran down thd 
steps — ^aiid I was left alone with the boy. - What a strange 
bare room! just as Olga described it; even the gray kitten 
was sitting on one of the steps leading to the loft. The win- 
dows were all closed, probably for safety, but I opened one of 
them; the close stove was alight, and a curiouly snaped vessel 
like a big coffee pot with a black handle was on the top; I 
found it was full of hot water. 

Reggie was tossing uncomfortably on his pillows; his dear 
little face was flushed, and his lips hot and dry; his beautiful 
eyes were wide open, and had the lustrous look; of fever. He 
was chatting about ^ a great big butterpie.’ ^ Isn’t it a funny 
butterpie ? ’ he asked when he saw me. 

I knew very little about children’s illnesses, but I guessed 
it was a sudden feverish attack; perhaps he had been running 
about too much in the sun, and had overheated himself, or 
he had taken something to disagree with him; I knew Wil- 
fred had these sort of attacks, and often alarmed his parents; 
some children were always light-headed when they were un- 
well. I would not let myself be frightened, though he cer- 
tainly looked very ill! The poor little creature seemed 
wretchedly uncomfortable; the bedclothes were all in a heap. 
I was glad now of the hot water; I could sponge his face and 
hands, and give him a little warm milk and water to drink; 
then I removed the pillow and some of the outer coverings 
and he seemed less restless. 

It would be some time before the doctor could be here, and 
it was growing dusk. I had some difficulty in lighting a 
small lamp that stood on the writing-table; it had not been 
properly trimmed, and the flame was rather smoky. I placed 
it as far as possible fromt the bed, for it would never do to be 
left in darkness; but the smell of the parafiin oil w'as sicken- 
ing, and the room looked bare and comfortless in that murky 
light. What a place for a delicate child ! the floor had evi- 
dently not been swept for a week. I heard afterward that 
Madame Perrot neglected her lodsrers: and there were marks 
of dust on everything; 

Reggie seem^ quieter now, and lay babbling rather indis- 
tinctly of father and kitty. He seemed to like me beside 


A 8TRAWGB BIGHT. 


167 


him; once he thought I was Olga. ‘Tell me about the howl, 
my dear/ he vrhispered with confidential huskiness — ‘the 
howl what lived in the ivy-buSh.^ That hour seemed a very 
long one ^ me. Every now and then I went to the door to 
listen. How dark and quiet it looked outside — almost op- 
pressively still ! Our little grove seemed to shut out the outer 
world. Only once a sudden gleam shone through the foliage; 
it was a light from Olga's room — she must be wondering at 
my long absence. The next minute it disappeared and all 
was dark again, and I went back to Reggie. 

I was thankful when at last footsteps reached my ears, and 
the door in the wall was unlocked. 

‘ It is Mr. Dodd. * Dr. Addison is at St. Genette. Have I 
been very long ? ' 

As Mr. Fleming put the question, he stooped down and 
looked at his boy, and I shook hands with the young doctor. 
I saw him cast a surprised look round the room; then his eyes 
rested on Mr. Fleming a moment. He was certainly a strange 
contrast to his surroundings; .there was an indefinable air of 
refinement and culture about him, that would have struck 
even a stranger; even the way he walked across the room to 
fetch the smoky lamp Vas somehow different to the way other 
men walked ; there was a free grace in every movement, an 
ease of bearing, a restrained strength, that was quite unique. 

He held the lamp quietly while Mr. Dodd examined his littlo 
patient; nor did he speak except to answer his questions. I 
could not help admiring his power of repressing himself. 

‘ Well, what do you think of him?' ho asked, when tho 
doctor had finished. 

‘ I shall be able to tell you better to-morrow/ was the eva- 
sive answer. 

* Is it anything infectious ? ' 

‘Oh no, not in the least. The child has been running 
about too much in the sun ; he has overheated or over-excited 
himself. How long has he been ailing ? ' 

‘ He did not seem quite himself yesterday — or was it the 
day before? — he complained of headache, and was rather 
drowsy. I kept him quiet, and then he seemed better.' 

‘ He got a little wet in that shower yesterday, did he not, 
Mr. Fleming ? I think Miss Leigh told me so.' 

‘Not very; do ycu think that mattered?' looking at tho 
doctor anxiously. I fancied Mr. Dodd avoided his eye. 

‘ One cannot tell ; with these delicate children it does not 
take much to make them ill. I should say that he has been 
ailing for a day or two. You must keep him very quiet, and 


168 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 


follow my directions. His hair is too long; we must alter 
that.' 

I *Do you mean it .must be cut off?' and the poor young 
i fellow turned exceedingly pale. 

I ^.Oh, I dare say Miss Sefton will see to that,' in an off-hand 
I way that deceived neither of us. ^ Now, are you going back 
with me in the carriage ? There will be medicine and ice re- 
quired; and you had better bring some Liebig's essence back 
with you. .Who is going to attend to my orders ?' 

^ You may give them to me, Mr. Dodd;' and I signed to 
him to follow me to the other side of the room. We spoke 
in the lowes- possible tones. I could see Mr. Fleming was 
straining his ears to catch what we said, but he could not 
hear a word. 

* Is it only a simple feverish attack ? ' 

can hardly tell you to-night; it is more the brain. I 
should say the child nas the most delicate organization; he 
has evidently one of those sensitive, highly-wrought natures 
that are liable to this form of illness; there is need for great 
c^e. You will be with him to-night ? ' 

*Yes, of course; there is no one else to nurse him. But, 
Mr. Dodd, do you think he could be moved close by — to La 
Maisonnette ? ' 

^To-night? — no, certainly not; you must keep him where 
he is; it is not very comfortable, but it is cool and airy;' and 
then he proceeded to give me all directions, while Mr. Flem- 
ing looked at us wistfully ; but he did not interfere, only, as 
Mr. Dodd repeated once more, ^ His hair is too long and thick ; 
if you have some scissors by you, I should advise you to cut 
it rather closely,' I saw him fingering the rough locks, as 
though he were loath to part with them ; and as he did so, his 
lips were pressed tightly together, as though in intolerable 
pam. 

.As \ihgr went through the door in the wall, I stood for an 
instant looking out into the dark garden.' As I did so, I 
caught a faint gleam of whiteness in the distance. If it 
should be Olga looking for me,- for she was wearing a white 
gown this evening! With a sudden longing that it should be 
so, I leaned over the parapet, and called her name. To my 
relief, she instantly responded, and I could hear her fumbling 
at the gate. 

‘ Where are you. Aunt Catherine ? ' 

* Here at the pavilion ! ' 

Then I could hear her running down the gravel-path and 
in a minute she was beside me. 


A STRANGE NIGHT. 


169 


^ Oh, Aunt Catherine, it is I who have been frightened this 
evening I We have been looking for you everywhere, and 
then I thought I heard your voice. But why are you here ? ^ 
^Hush, you must not speak so loud; Reggie is ill, and his 
father is just going back with the doctor to fetch the medi- 
cine. I have ^'romised to stay with him to-night. But, 01ga> 
I am so thankful you have come; there are so many things I 
want that Jeanne must bring me. Mr. Fleming will be away 
an hour, and I must put things a little comfortable before his 
return. I must have another lamp, not this smoky thing.^ 

I was holding the door as I spoke, but now she put her 
hand over mine as though to open it. 

^ Tell me that presently. I must see Reggie first,^ and as 
I yielded to the strong girlish pressure, she crossed the room 
and knelt down by the bed. ' Oh, my darling, how ill he 
looks I ^ and she lifted the little hands to her lips. 

Reggie seemed to recognize her voice ; for he smiled and 
muttered drowsily : ^ She was so pretty and fluffy; my dear, 
and had such nice yellow eyes.^ 

Olga’s eyes were full of tears as she listened to himj but 
there was no time to be lost on mere sentiment. In a moment' 
the dear girl was as prompt and full of resources as ever. I 
saw her looking round the room quickly, as though to note its 
deficiencies- 

‘ I must have a lamp, Olga — that one with the soft pretty 
shade; and my work-basket, and some of those fine towels, 

and a napkin or two, and a duster, and * 

‘ Oh, there will be more than that required,^ she returned 
quietly; ‘I must bring Jeanne to help me. You must have 
an easy-chair if you are to sit up all night, and you have had 
no supper, and Jeanne must make you some coffee. Don^t 
trouble yourself. Aunt Catherine; I will see to all that, and 
you must take care of Reggie.^ 

And without trusting herself to look at him again, she gave 
me a little reassuring nod and went away, but I followed her 
to whisper outside : 

^ You will not Jeajine make a noise.^ 

‘ She shall not come farther than the steps. I will bring 
everything myself. Oh, you may trust me, dear! ^ 

And she sent me bacK to my watch with the comforting 
thought that I had a faithful helper outside. 

J am afraid to say how many journeys those two women 
performed between La Maisonnette and the pavilion during 
the next half-hour. Every few minutes I heard faint sounds 
at the bottom of the steps, and then Olga would enter, noise- 


170 ^ ^THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHVRST^ 

lessly carrying in one thing after another in her strong young 
arms, and quite regardless of her own fatigue. I do not think 
I ever admired her as I did that night. She- was so quiet, so 
helpful, SQ.full of thought for me. The easy -chair was placed 
by the bed, and a slip of carpet and a footstool put near it. 
The smoky lamp was carried away, and our ps-etty shaded 
one placed in its stead. Then, to my surprise, another easy- 
chair was put near the writing-table. ^ It is for Mr. Fleming; 
he will be so tired,^ she whispered. 

Only once I saw her linger over her task; it was when she 
saw me beginhing to cut off Reggie^s thick locks. 

^ Oh, must you do that ? ^ she said with a little sob, and the 
tears were running down her cheeks as she went out. ' But it 
was not long before she came back; this time she carried a 
tray covered with a napkin. ^ It is your supper and his,^ she 
said softly. ^ I am going to bring you some coffee, and then 
there is nothing else I can do. It is growing late, and Jeanne 
is tired and wants to shut up.^ 

^My dear, you have done such wonders,^ and I kissed her 
and wished her good-night. 

She had only just gone when I heard the latch of the door 
lifted, and Mr. Fleming entered. I sav/ him give a dazed 
sort of look at the room, as though he did not recognize it. 
I dare say he wondered what magician^s wand had been at 
work during his absence. The soft shaded light, the easy- 
chairs, the tempting meal on the table, the steaming coffee- 
pot, must each have been a mystery to him; but tired and 
jaded as he was, he was in no mood for comfort. On the 
contrary, ho helped me to apply the ice to Eeggie^s head and 
give him his medicine, waiting upon me in a way that made 
me think again that he must have been used to illness. The 
ingenious manner in which he constructed a screen with a 
couple of chairs and the quilt so as to shield Reggie from the 
light proved him ready with resources. It was not until there 
.was nothing more to be done that T saw him throw himself 
into a chair a$ though he were exhausted; and no wonder, 
for he had tramped miles that day. .. 

I poured him out some coffee, and putting some sandwiches 
on a plate, placed the food at his elbow ; but he was lying 
back m his chair with closed eyes and. took no notice. He 
looked frightfully pale, and his hair was damp and -matted 
on his temples; most likely he had eaten nothing all day. I 
touched him gently to rouse him. He opened his eyes; .their 
look of misery was almost more than I could bear; but . he 
only shook his head when I begged him to eat. 


A BTRAmE NIQHT. 171 

cannot — it is impossible T was his answer; and then he 
closed his eyes again with a groan. 

He wanted me to go away and leave him, but I dared not. 
Poor fellow! — he looked little more than a boy in that light 
— he was utterly spent v/ith grief and inanition ; the sight of 
the little cropped head on the pillow had turned him sick. 

I must do him good in spite of himself. Why need I mind 
; him ? he was only BasiPs age, and I Was old enough to be his 
I mother. 

‘ Mr. Fleming,^ I said gently, ^ you must drink this coffee, 
and, pardon me, you must eat. How are you to help me 
nurse Reggie if yOu give way like this ? ’ and as he made no 
answer, I put my arm under his head, and held the cup to 
his lips as though he were Reggie. ^ Now drink, please;^ and 
to my relief he obeyed me. 

Most likely the first taste was like a cordial to him, for he‘ 
finished it almost at a draught; then I put a sandwich in his 
hand: ^Now eat that, and I will bring you some more coffee, j 
Tell me truly — you have eaten nothing to-day ? ^ . 

^ Yes; I had some bread: that was all there was in the 
house. - 1 could not leave Reggie to get anything, else. May 
I have some more coffee ? it is delicious.’ 

‘Yes; but you must finish all those sanawiches.’ But I 
had no need to urge him : the craving for food had returned, 
and he ate what I had placed before him as though he were 
famished; but when he had finished he pushed away the plate 
with a gesture of disgust. 

‘Isn’t it horrid to think I can eat, with him lying theref 
Miss Sefton, you are an angel of goodness to me to-night I 
Tell me, do you think my boy is in danger ? ’ 

He took my hand as he spoke;, his were hot and treni?» 
bling. 

‘ How can I tell ? ’ I faltered. " ‘ He is very ill; and, indeed^ 
I must go back to him. There is great need for care — Mr. 
Dodd said so; but he is no worse — I think he is even quieter.’ 

He drew a long breath, and then looked at me rather 
strangely. 

‘ If he should get worse would you promise to tell me ?’ 

‘Yes; I will ask Mr. Dodd to do so.’ 

‘ You must keep your promise, for a good deal depends on 
jit. He will not get worse, dear little chap, will he ? Only — 
jonly, you know, in that case I must tell his mother.’ 

His mother I Was he wandering ? had anxietv about Reggie 
,been too much for him ? 

^ Yes, I must tell Aline— -I mean, I must tell my wife. She 


172 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

is in E^land;’ and when he had said this he raised himsplf 
with difttculty, and went to look at Eeggie./ 


CHAPTER XIX. 

‘'he is etebythinq to me. 

With patience to endure our griefs we learn not soon. 

But now much later still to take tliem as a boon ? ' 

AiacHBisHor Trench. 

‘ Thou who art 
iSo happy in Thy heaven alway. 

Take not mine only bliss away I ’ 

Mbs. Beowninq. 

I went back to my little patient. Reggie was moaning, 
and seemed restless and ill at ease; but after a time he quieted 
down again into the same drowsy state. I sat beside him si- 
lently, holding the hot tiny hand in mine; there was so little 
one could do. Now and then a shiver passed over me as I 
thought of Mr. Fleming’s words. 

Jem was right, after all; there was need indeed to be care- 
JuL What would Olga say ? How would she be able to de- 
fend Mr. Fleming now ? She had pitied him, in her sim- 
plic’ty, thinking him a heart-broken widower; how would she 
receive the astounding intelligence that his wife was really 
alive and in England — ^that Reggie had a mother ? Would 
she not be shocked by his reticence, his seeming indifference ? 
Would she not ask, as I was questioning myself now, what it 
could all mean ? 

And yet there might be some explanation possible, some 
satisfactory solution of the mystery. He might have come 
over to St. Croix on Reggie’s account. Perhaps he was too 
poor to bring his wife too; she might be delicate^ — ^an invalid. 
Only the strongest necessity would induce him to alarm her 
by the account of Reggie’s illness; it was his care, his thought- 
fulness for this wife of his — this Aline — not Jiis indifference, 
that had prompted his silence. 

All these suggestions were plausible enough, then why did 
I not believe them? Why did I instinctively refuse to ac- 
knowledge them, while a grov/ing distrust and uneasiness 
beized me ? 

^ Mr. Fleming is a perfect stranger to us,’ so tho inward 


^HE m EVERYTHim TO ME,^ > 


(173 


argument went on; ^he^ a proud, reserved man. Is such an 
one likely to speak of his family affairs ? How was he to read 
our thoughts, or to know that we had ima^ned him a widower ? 
Fuch an idea may have never entered his head. This is not 
the reason why he has kept himself 85 aloof, and made no re- 
sponse to our friendly overtures;^ and so on. 

I could not refute these arguments; but a woman judges 
by instinct, and in my inmost heart I felt that Jem^s story 
was true. Mr. Fleming was evidently a dissatisfied, unhappy 
man. That this unhappiness was connected in some way 
with his married life I Was now as convinced as though the 
evidence were before my eyes. He had married beneath him, 
and he was now ashamed of the. woman ho had made hi^ wife. 
Perhaps they were separated! And Olgas had been thrown 
into the company of this man! No wonder her young guar- 
dian, Jem, was up in arms. What would Mr. Leigh say? 
My responsibility weighed heavy on me that night. How 
was I to behave m future to this poor wolf in sheep^s cloth- 
ing ? How was I to keep him and Olga apart, and yet do my 
duty to this worse than motherless child — this little innoce it 
being who was perhaps made the scapegoat of his parents' 
transgressions ? And as I asked myself these perplexing 
questions I involuntarily raised my eyes. Mr. Fleming was 
watching /me, as though he read my thoughts; his face had 
grown paler and more haggard. His fixed, miserable glance 
gave me a shock. 

‘ Do not be hard upon me; you do not know it all.' That 
was what his eyes seemed to say to me. Poor boy I he was so 
young— only Basil's age, if Basil was living. How was one to 
judge him severely ? That tired, sad young face seemed to 
i^peal strangely to me. 

The next minute I rose softly, and taking up the strip of 
soft carpet Olga had put for my use, I spr ad it beside him 
with a hassock and Reggie's rejected pillow. He looked at 
me with a bewildered air^ as though he did not understand 
what I was doing. I put my hand on his shoulde'r: 

‘You are worn out,' I said gently; ‘this is the only couch 
I can contrive for you. You must lie dow.i and try to sleep. 
I will promise to wake you if there be anything for you to do; 
and' — as he hesitated-r-‘ you will be able to help me more to-* 
morrow if you sleep now.' 

‘ Do you really mean it ? ' he asked under his breath. 

‘ Yes; please do not keep me waiting. I ant to cover you 
with this ' — pointing to a wi*ap in my hand. ‘ This place is 
very draughty.' . 


04 rPHM SEARCH FOR RASH LYNDBURST. 

/'And then Mb weariness was so great ne resisted no longer. 
(ti& I stooped to adjust the covering he arrested my hand and 
{Carried it to his lips. 

* Oh, how good you are ! I never knew any one so good ! I 
dd not deserve it/ 

But almost before I left him his eyes closed and he was 
Isleepv Once or twice during the night I looked at him as I 

E assed to and fro on some errand; he was sleeping soundly, 
is head pillowed on one arm, the other stretched on the rug 
that covered him. There was something boyish in his atti- 
tude; his face looked calm and happy, as though some peace- 
ful dream had beguiled him. There were no lines now in 
the broad, open forehead; the smooth, dark face was at rest^ 
The firm lips had relaxed into a half-smile. Only once, when 
the dawn felt chilly and I put a shawl over him, he: stirred 
and frowned, 

^Don% Aline; it hurts— it hurts dreadfully!^ I heard him 
mutter, as he flung awaiy from ma 

During the hours that followed I had plenty of time for re- 
jection. I could make my plans for the morrow undisturbed. 
After all, there was a way out of my perplexity. Olga must 
be made to understand that any intercourse with Mr. Flem- 
ing must be forbidden for the fu^rei Oply on this undei^ 
standing could I retain my present post She w^ so unselfish 
she would not refuse, for Keggie^s sake. If Olga were only 
off my mind, I felt I could devote myself gladly to the service 
of these two- helpless beings— for a man is generally helpless 
in some degree in a sick-room, unless he is especially fitted 
(by nature for a nurse; 

Mr. Fleming was not without resources. He was helpful 
and self-reliant, but his anxiety for his child unmanned him. 
I knew that for his boj/s good he would allow himself to be 
guided and advised; his very gratitude would make him plia- 
ble in my hands. No, I must not disquiet myself any more; 
with a little tact and discrimination I should be able to steer 
through my difficulties. 

I was so sure, too, that Olga^s good sense would aid me-- 
the dear child had never yet disappointed me;. 

The longest night must have an end, and by-and-by I saw 
jthe gray dawn creeping through the uncurtained window; 
there were faint streaks of flight across the sky; the.bird^ 
began to twitter. The coming day was heralded by numerous 
voices — by the crowing of cocks from the poultry-yards by 
the faint bleating of sheep. The sun was rising, and soorti 
the happ y, wakin g^earth would be b athed in hisj ^lden radi^ 


^HE IS EYERYTHma TO ME^ 


175 


ance. It was still so early, that I was surprised to hear foot- 
steps approaching. They were not Jeanne^s sabots clattering 
up the steps; that light tread could only belong to Olga. 

The next instant there was a gentle knock, the door was 
softly opened, and my dear girl entered, looking a little pale 
and anxious, as though she had not rested as well as usual, 
and laden with a heavy tray that she had carried all the way 
from La Maisonnette. 

‘ I thought you would like your breakfast early,' she whis- 
pered in my ear; ^so,”as I was awake, I would not trouble 
Jeanne. How is he, Aunt Catherine ? ' 

do not quite know, my dear. He does not seem worse; 
but it is for the doctor to tell us/ 

^ Oh, he is not worse, I can see it; I am sure of it,' she^ re- 
turned, kneeling dowii by the bed and kissing him softly. 
‘ Oh, my darling! how sweet he looks! but I am so sorry his 
pretty ^ir has been touched.' 

^Hush, Olga!' for she had not pefceived Mr. Fleming, and 
he was now awake and watching us. * My dear, will you go 
away now and come to me presently ? ' and she understood 
me in a moment and rose at once — a hint was always enough 
for Olga. She did not look beyond the bed, but only said 
quietly : 

‘ Yes, I will see you by-and-by. Please take your breakfast, 
Aunt Catherine;' and then she v/ent away softly. 

1 looked at the meal her loving hands had prepared. There 
was a little brown teapot for me; a tiny cofiee-pot, that was 
evidently intended for Mr. Fleming; a pile of crisp, delicious- 
looking toast; some new-laid eggs; a pat of fresh, golden 
butter. All served so daintily T I could see Mr. Fleming 
was looking at it too. 

‘ This is your breakfast as well as mine,' I said with a. smile. 

‘ May I have it presently ? ' he returned quite bumbly, as 
though, he were asking a favor. ^ I must go down to the bay 
and have a dip first'. I could not sit down like this/ witn 
a shrug, as though he were conscious of his jaded appear- 
ance. 

^The stove is still warm; it will heat your coffee. Yes, go 
it will do you good;' but he lingered to look at Keggie and 
question me. 

* She did not think that he looked any worse/ 

^Who? oh, you .mean Miss Leigh. &o, I do not think he 
is worse this morning. Indeed, he seems rather easier.' 

^If he should get well, it will be you who will have saved 
him/ he replied in a voice of intense emotion; "what shall I 


176 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


not owe you — if— if ^ he stopped as though unable to say 

another word. 

^ Please do not say any more; we cannot tell. It is in God’s 
hands, not mine. Look what a lovely morning it is! ^ 

am keeping you from your breakfast, and you look so 
tired/ he returned remorsefully; ‘I will go/ and "he hurried 
away. 

Five minutes later Olga^s soft footsteps returned again. 

^He has gone to bathe,^ she said eagerly; saw him pass 
with his towels. So we are safe, for some time. Let me pour 
out your tea. Aunt Catherine, and then I must put things a 
little comfortable for you both.^ 

She was running away, but I held her fast. 

* Olga, my dear, I want to speak to you. I had rather a 
shock last night. Mr. Fleming — oh, I don’t want to speak 
against him, poor fellow! but he is not what we thought him 
— not a widower. His wife is living; she is in England.’ 

I fancied she turned a shade paler in her surprise; but she 
answered me very quietly: 

* I am glad that he told you. It is better to know the truth 
about people ! ’ 

^ Yes, and Jem must have been right in what he wrote.’ 

^ Very probably,’ but there was no indignation in her clear 
tones; ^it was stupid of me to * get that idea into my head; 
but I certainly thought his wife was dead. Did he say any- 
thing about her. Aunt Catherine ? ’ 

^ Not a word — only that he must tell her if Eeggie got 
worse. Olga, I fear there must be something very wrong. It 
makes me uneasy that you should be with him.’ 

^It is notour affair,^ sh^a returned quickly; /his wife has 
nothing to do with us. It is only Eeggie who concerns us. 
You will not forsake him, surely ? ’ 

* Not if — if — you will promise ’ 

* There is nothing for me to promise/ she replied, with a 
touch of impatience in her voice; ‘ it is not I who am nursing 
Eeggie; it is only you. Aunt Catherine.’ 

^Yes; but, my dear, do you not see my difficulty? Last 
night Mr. Fleming slept upon the floor, and when to-night 
comes, what am I to do with him ? and there is no other room 
than this, and you and Jeanne are alone at La Maison- 
nette I ’ 

^ But I shall not b« there to-night,’ she returned, as though 
a bright idea struck her. ‘ Listen to me, dear — ^to-night you 
shall lie down, and I will watch Eeggie. There is the big 
couch in the drawing-room that can be brought over to the 


m EYBRYTHIBB TO MB: 177 

pavilion, and you shall rest, and I will call you from time to 
time/ 

^And Mr. Fleming ? 

^ Oh, there is the room at the end of the passage,^ she an- 
swered' in an off-hand manner. ‘Jeanne shall get it ready for 
hini, and he shall have his supper and breakfast in the salle- 
a-manger; and Jeanne will wait on Jiim : is it not an excellent 
idea ? but we must not talk any more—your tea is getting 
cold, and I want to do a little dusting before he returns. ^ Do 
you see this red sash. Aunt Catherine? when he goes out and; 
you want me, you must fasten this to the ruling at the top 
of the steps, and when I come to the little gate I shall see it;’ 
it is to be our signal to eacb other. . There, I have arranged 
it all, and there is nothing to say moreP and she moved away, 
quietly and began to put things in order, arranging the books 
in neat piles, and re'moving the lamp; but she had not been 
long at work before the door in the wall was unlatched, and 
Mr. Fleming re-entered, looking all the fresher for his bath. 
Olga left off at once and shook hands with him. ‘I am sure 
Reggie looks a little better,^ she said in a low voice. ‘Aunt 
Catherine has finished her breakfast; you must have yours 
now;^ and she went out, carrying the lamp with her. I saw 
a strange undefinable expression flit across Mr. Fleming's 
face as he closed the door after her; perhaps those few words 
cheered him, for he seemed to enjoy his breakfast, although 
I directly he had finished he seemed so restless that I recom- 
mended him to stroll up and down the garden until Mr. Dodd 
arrived. 

‘ Do I fidget you ? ^ he asked penitently. ' ‘ I am afraid you 
want to get rid of me.. If I could only control this restless- 
ness!* 

‘You will walk it off,* was my reply; and to my relief he 
took my advice. I suppose Olga saw him marching up and 
down the little path, for she never came near us.. 

Mr. Dodd*s report was hardly as satisfactory as I 'had ex- 
pected; his manner was guarded and he spoke vaguely. 

‘ Oh no, our little patient is no worse,* he said in answer to 
the father’s anxious questioning; ‘indeed, I trust he is going 
on, fairly well; but there is little change, and we cannot be 
too careful. A great deal depends on the nursing*,* and here 
yhe looked at me. 

I saw at once that he would not speak out plainly before* 
^Mr. Fleming; so I begged the latter to leave us for a few min- 
lutes, and he obeyed me rather reluctantly. 

12 


178 THE SEARCH EOR BASIL LTNDRURST, 

^ Now Mr. Dodd/ I began as he closed the door, ^you rnff 
speak to me as openly as you wish/ 

‘Ido not want to alarm you,^ he replied cautiously; ‘but 
the child is very ill, and one can never tell in these cases./ ^ 

‘ You do not find any improvenient, then ? ^ 

‘No material improvement — certainly not.^ 

‘ And we must not move him ? ^ 

‘ On no account; he will do very v/ell where he is^thi^ 
room is cool and airy; and as far as quietness goes it- might 
be a hermitage; but I suppose,’ looking at me inquiringly 
‘there is very little accommodation ? still, La Maisonnette is 
so close.^ 

‘Oh, we can manage!’ for it was no use taking a strahgef 
into confidehce. And, after all, Olga’s plan could be tried; 
BO, after giving me a few more directions and promising to 
call in the evening, Mr., Dodd took his leave. He was young; 
but his manner p,ve me confidence, and I had heard fromi 
ithe Milners that ne was considered extremely clever. 

After our early luncheon was over, I wrcrte out rather a 
long list of things that I required from the town. There was 
money to be changed at the bank, and various commissions 
to be executed. Mr. Fleming undertook them cheerfully. J 
could see that he was sanguine about Keggie; he thought Mr.} 
Dodd had not spoken quite so gravely, and, of course, I did 
not undeceive him. The long walk would be good for him) 
and he would have the pleasure of ^feeling himself of use, 
besides v/hich, his absence for an hour or two would enable 
US to make arrangements for the night. There was much tq 
be done; the pavilion was pleasant enough by day, but it was' 
decidedly cold and cheerless by night. Directly Mr. Fleming 
had startea for St. Croix, I hung, out the red signal, and after 
a little delay Olga came. I set her and Jeanne to work, and 
in about an hour we had made things more comfortable^ 
The big couch with pillows and quilt was placed ready for the 
night, and a Japanese screen r^und it. Some more -strips of 
carpet were laid over the boards, the newly=-trimmed lamp 
brought back, and Olga had actually washed the floor over^ 
and had placed a great bowl of roses on the v/riting-table 
before Mr. Fleming returned. 

He came in hot and dr sty, and paused a -moment on the 
threshold. Olga had her back turned to the door, and didj 
not see him; she was arranging the little tea-table. > She 
wore a coarse bib-apron over her pretty summer ^ own, and 
had pinned a handkerchief ov3r her brown hair to protect 
her from the dust. Mr, Fleming^ did not seem to recognize 


^HE m EVERYTHim TO ME: 


179 


her. I saw him put up his arm to shield his eyes, as thou^li 
the sunshine dazzled him. She started and colored a little 
when she turned round and saw him, hut did not speak. 
When she had left the room, Mr. Fleming came close tc me. 

‘ Miss Sefton,^ he said hurriedly, as though he were agitated,', 
^ please do not let Miss Leigh work in the way she is doing; 
it pains me excessively to see it; it is not right. I have strong 
arms. I am not useless. There' is. nothing I will not do if 
you will only tell me how I may be of service. It is not for 
Miss Leigh,. it is for me, to work.^ 

I looked up into the young determined face. In triy heart 
I admired the proud independence that refused a girFs servJ 
ices. Uijiwittingly he had played into my hands. 

^ Will you really promise to' do as I wish ? ^ 

'Try me! ^ was the eager answer; and a wonderful softness 
()ame into his gray eyes. 

' Oh, if he hadj)nly been Basil, I felt then that I could have 
loved him ! - 

' You are very good,^ I returned quietly; and then I ex^ 
♦plained to him the arrangements we had made for the night. 

To my dismay, he turned very pale, and looked exceedingly 
unhappy. 

‘Oh, you will not do that?^ he said piteously; 'you will 
never ask me to leave him ? I would do anything else, I 
will sit up all night, or there is the loft. I would lie down on 
a heap of shavings — anything — ^anything — so that I may be 
•near him!’ 

' But, Mr. Fleming- ’ x 

'Oh, you don’t know what he is to me!’ he interrupted. 
'If he should die, I should just go and hang or drown myself. 
I could not live without my boy, baby as he is, he is every- 
thing to me,’ 

The tears came into my eyes to hear him talk like that, 
poor fellow ! and for his own sake I must be firm. I took his 
hand — it was clenched, and felt like iron — and I spoke to 
him as though I were his mother. 

'My dear,’ I said, 'you must not talk so; yoii have been 
very good and patient. No one could have behaved better; 
but you must trust me — a little. I am very tired, for I did 
not close my eyes last night, and if Olga will sit beside Reggie 
I shall be able to sleep.’ 

'It will be all the same,’ he urged eagerly; 'you can rest 
there behind that screen, and I will promise not to take my 
eyes ofi him. Do you think I cannot keep awake as well 
Miss Leigh ? And it is my own boy who is lying there I \ 


180 THB BE ARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


I shook my heaid. He was making it very difficult for me, 
and yet I would not give it up. I knew that there would be 
no rest for me under such circumstances. He would not 
know how to manage Beggie, and I should spend the night in 
watching them both. 

He looked at me in his keen way. 

^ This does not please you; you want me to go away.^ 

^ Yes, for this one night. It will be better. I would not 
propose it if I did not know it would be for the best. Mr. 
Fleming, you must not think me cruel. If Reggie be worse 
— if there be any change, I mean — I will promise that you 
shall be called at once. If you leave your window open, there 
will be no difficulty. Either Olga or I will come. Can you 
not trust me this once ? ^ 

He did not answer for a moment, and then ne said in a 
hasty tone : 

Yes, I can trust you; but it is long since I have said tnat 
to any woman; but, remember, it will be with my all. Very 
well, I will go; send me away when you wish;^ and then he 
went back to Reggie; but it wrung my heart to see. him sit- 
ting there with his head buried in his hands. Ah me, that 
the love for a little child should be so great, and yet there are 
many 6f us who doubt the Fatherhood of God ! 

It was late, nearly ten o^clock, before I asked him to with- 
draw. He had not once. moved or spoken; but at my first 
whisper he rose at once, and, with one long look at his boy, 
went out on the steps, where Jeanne and her lantern were 
waiting for him. I could not let him go like that, and fol- 
lowed him out. 

^ Mr. Fleming, you will try to sleep ? I may need you to- 
morrow.^ 

^ Oh yes, I shall try,^ he replied in a weary tone. 

^ You do not know how grateful I am to you for this com- 
pliance with my wishes.^ 

‘ I would rather you had told me to lie down on these 
stones; may I — ^ with a sudden change of tone — ^may I stop 
outside here ? * 

‘ And lay up rheumatism for life ! No, certainly not, and 
there is a comfortable bed ready for you. Come, Jeanne, I 
intrust monsieur to your care; make him comfortable. Good- 
night, Mr. Fleming; God v/iil watch over Reggie as well as 
though you were beside him. You must trust your boy to 
Him;' but I must confess that I felt a sad choking sensation 
in my throat as I watched him walking v/ith bent head, as 


^BE IS EVERYTHma TO MEX 181 

though he hardly knew where he was goingr Once I saw 
Jeanne catch hold of his arm as though he were stumbling. 

Olga was sitting beside Reggie, and looked wakeful and 
Vigilant* There was no need for any words between us, and 
I threw myself heavily on the couch, and was soon asleep. 
Two or three times that night Olga roused me, but I always 
resumed my interrupted nap. 

I woke at last of my ov/n accord, and peeped round the 
screen. The gray dawn was just breaking, but the lamp was 
still alight. To my surprise, Olga had ' quitted her post. I 
thought I heard her voice speaking to some one outside; tho 
next minute she re-entered. 

‘ Were you speaking to Mr. Fleming, Olga ? ' 

^ Yes; this is the second time he has come.^ 

^ He has not slept, then ? ^ 

^Yes, during the earlier part of the night; but toward 
morning he got restless. I have sent him away happier thi| 
time, Aunt Catherine. I do believe Reggi^ is a litHe better 
—that Mr. Dodd will say so.^ 

I thought so, too, as I looked at him, and in our joy and 
relief we kissed each other, and Olga cried a little. 

^Oh, he is such a darling!^ she said; ‘i think it would 
break my heart if we v/ere to* lose him. I do net believe I 
have ever liked any other child in quite the same way; ^ and 
I understood her. The little creature had certainly found 
his way to our hearts in the most singular manner. 

^ And now. Aunt Catherine,^ she continued in a different 
voice, ‘ what are we to do about breakfast ? * 

' ■ Are you very tired, Olga ? 

‘ Not so very tired, ^ was the brisk reply; / but I shall have 
a nap presently.^ 

‘ Then in that case d will leave you in charge for an hour, 
while I change my things and refresh myself. Shall you bo 
afraid to be left, Olga?^ 

^Not a bit! you must stay and have breakfast with Mr. 
Fleming. Yes, that will be best. Aunt Catherine.’ 

I knew I could trust her, and there was nothing to be done 
for Reggie; so I went back to La Maisonnette. Jeanne^.was 
in the salle-a-manger, and I begged her to prepare an early 
breakfast. Just as I was sitting down to the table, Mr. Flem- 
ing came in, evidently from another dip in the bay, fo he 
had his towels over hil arm; he looked very pleased to see me. 

^Reggie is better!’ he said eagerly. Miss Leigh is sun? 
pi it.’ 

‘ Yes, I think so, I hope so! We shall see what Mr. Dodd 


182 TEE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 

says;^ and then I added reproachfully: ^After all, yon have 
not slept.’ 

^ Oh yes, I haye! ’ he returned in a boyish sort of way; ^and 
the bed was so comfortable! I slept quite two hours, and then 
I got up and dressed, and went over to the pavilion; Miss 
Leigh heard me, and came out/ 

‘ Yes, I know.’ 

went back again and had another nap; but somehow I 
could not get the dear little chap out of my thoughts, and I 
was obliged to run across again. I am afraid Miss Leigh 
must have thought me a bore.’ 

^ I am afraid so too.’ 

He gave an odd little laugh at that, and then said rathef 
unsteadily : 

‘Don’t chaff me, please; of course I behaved like an ass 
last night; but if you. knew what it cost me to obey you] ’ 

‘ 1 do know.’ 

‘And yet you asked meio goT Never mind, I am too happy 
to reproach you. Well, it was the hardest bit of work I ever 
did in my life; but all the same, I did it.’ And then a curi- 
ous change came over his face, and he walked away to the 
window. ‘If Reggie be really better,’ he said as he stood 
there, ‘ there will be no need to tell Aline; we shall not be 
here much longer.’ 

‘ Do you not think that in any case his mother ought to 
know ? ’ I asked cautiously. 

‘No, I think not,’ was the hesitating answer; ‘there are 
mothers and mothers. Aline is not one of the anxious sort.^ 
And with this vague response he whistled to Rollo, and went 
put into the garden until I had finished my breakfast. 


CHAPTER XX. 

LOOKING AT THE SUNSET. 

* Oh, tbe moorland by the sea ! -The red siin in gallant splendour 
Drops his morning kiss upon it, ere he goeth on his way. 

Or athwart its gold and purples steals a benediction tender. 

Ere night’s sSutv cuitains shroud him at the dewy close of day. 

Helen Marion Burnside. 

I was much comforted to find that Mr. Dodd indorsed our 
favorable opinion of Reggie. The child was going on well, he 
said — much better than he had ventured to hope; there had 


ZOOKim AT THE SUNSET 


18S 


Eeert a change foi* .-Je better in the night, and thougfT* there' 
was still the same care required, he trusted there would be’ 
no relapse. I told him how we had managed for the night,^ 
and the hard work I had had with Mr. Fleming. ^ I thought 
he seemed much interested. 

^ You were perfectly righV he said; ^you have saved youf^ 
self wisely for to-night; you could not possibly have done 
otherwise, a Mr, Fleming will be reasonable enough to own 
this.^ 

^He could not have kept awake/ I replied; ^ he was so 
Vorn-out with anxiety, and I should have been watching them 
(both all jiight.^ 

^ Yes, I understand; get him over to La Maisonnette agaiii 
to-night, if you like. . I cannot dispense with my head-nurse 
yet.^ Mr. Dodd and I understood each other perfectly. 1 
overheard him afterward talking to Mr. Fleming on the steps. 

^ Leave it all to the ladies,' he was saying. ‘ Miss Sefton is» 
an excellent nurse; you are perfectly safe in her hands. ^ The 
boy is doing very well ; and with such scanty accommoda-i 
tion ' 

^Oh, I do not mind about to-night!' replied Mr. Fleming? 
in his eager way, without letting the doctor finish. r ‘They/ 
may send me where they like, but last night it was different. 
Doctor,' dropping Jiis voice, ‘ I give you my word I would/ 
rather have cut my throat than have had to go off and leave) 
that little chap; and yet, when she told me to go, I was 
obliged to obey her. She is a woman one ‘nlust obey some- 
how; I never knew any one like her.' 

/Ohy es, I know what you mean; and she is a capital nurse, 
too. Very well, I shall look in again this evening. Can I 
take you down to the town, Mr. Fleming ? It will be a littlei 
distraction, and you will be out of the ladies' way.' 

I think this latter argument prevailed; for Mr. Fleming 
let himself be carried off as quietly as a lamb, r Olga went 
back to La Maisonnette for a couple of hours, and I was left 
^one with my little charge. 

Oh, the tillness of that noontide watcuT'* I had to shaken 
off drowsiness once or twice by walking to the open window. 
Outside the sunshine was blazing; white butterflies, Keggie's 
favorite playfellows, were fluttering hither and thither; the 
low app^e-trees were bending under their load; some bees 
were returning laden with honey from the 'fields of clover; 
an old man in a blue blouse was working among the cabbage; 
our little grove looked cool and shady. How long had I been 
at the pavilion ? .Only two days — the_ time seemed endless ! * 


184 THE mARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


Two days ago Mr. Fleming had been a stranger, and now 
I did not try to disguise from myself the strong interest I felt 
in him. He had come into my life with this strange suddem 
ness, and I felt that I could never banish him again. 

^ Olga will not always be with me,^ I thought, as I looked 
out dreamily at the gray head bobbing among the cabbages, 

‘ It is only for her sake that I am careful. Why should I not 
continue his friend, even if we find Basil ? there will be room 
for him. I must find out why he is so lonely and unhappy,- 
and then, surely, there will be some way of helping him. 
Even Virginia will be interested; she is so sorry for people 
who are unhappy; and we are rich; ^ and a sort of gladness 
came over me as I remembered our beautiful home — a sudden 
sense of power and well-being — almost for the first time. And 
he had the same name; and it was the sort of work Eobert 
would have loved, to make this noor young man believe in 
human nature again. 

Mr. Fleming returned just as Jeanne came over from La 
Maisonnette with our luncheon. She told me Olga was still 
asleep, so I charged her on no account to disturb her. The 
rest of the day passed very quietly. Mr. Fleming spent the 
afternoon watching his boy; but ho was careful not to dis- 
turb me. If I wanted him, he was always at my side in a 
moment; and he seemed very grateful if I let him do any- 
thing for Eeggie. 

^ I am not in the way, am I ? ’ he asked once. ^ I wish there 
was something I could do for you, but I am such a. clumsy 
fellow. Still, if you will only let me stop, I do so love to 
watch him Look here, Miss Sefton, I think he wants to 
k-eep me;/ and he showed me how Eeggie’s feeble finsers were 
clinging round his hand. 

^ Of course you may stay,^ I returned, smiling at them both ; 
it was such a pretty .picture, only, somehow, I could only see 
it dimly through a mist. ^ Do you think that I can have the 
heart to send you away again so soon ? ^ 

He looked a little grave at the remembrance of the previ- 
ous night, but he only said: 

‘ I am afraid I was very selfish. X on were quite right--Mr. 
Dodd said so; and if I had fallen asleep I should never have 
forgiven myself.^ 

^ Well, I am going to reward your obedience,^ I returned 
lightly; and, as he laid the little hand down and followed me 
to the window, I continued: "You may stay here to-night if 
you like. At least, I can promise you a better couch than the 
floor/ 


185 


LOOKING AT THE SUNSET. 

His face lighted up in a moment; a quick flush of pleasure 
crossed it. 

^ Do you really mean it ? Will you indeed permit me to 
stay ? Shall I not be a hindrance to you ? ' 

^ No ; I have been thinking it over. I have promised Mr. 
Dodd that I will take the nursing myself to-night, and as, 
thanks to you, I had some hours^ sleep, I shall be able to 
manage it.^ 

‘ And, of course. Miss Leigh is tired ? ^ 

^ She would hot own it ; but her watch was a long one, and 

she is not used to nursing. So, if you do not mind ^ 

— mind!’ — and a flash of the gray eyes answered me. 
^ I, who owe everything to your goodness, your generosity — 
my boy’s life — my ’ 

^Hush, please!’ — laying my hand on his arm. I almost 
forgot he was not belonging to me; we so soon grow to love 
those who are dependent on us for kindness, and he was only 
a boy to me — a boy like Basil. ^Well, that is arranged, 
and ’ 

MVait one moment, please. There is Miss Leigh; we must 
not forget her. She would like to say good-night to Eeggie 
— she is so fond of him, and he of her. Do you think I do 
not see all that ? ’ 

^Well?’ 

^ May I look if she be still in the garden ?-^she was there 
just now — and then I will bring her across.’ 

There was a repressed eagerness in his manner ; but I hardly 
knew how to refuse. It was such a little thing to ask, and it 
would please Olga. So, after a moment’s hesitation — which 
I hoped he did not notice — I let him go. Five minutes after 
I saw them walking down the path, and went out on the 
steps to meet them. 

' Aunt Catherine,’ Olga said brightly, and I could see she 
was quite pleased and excited, ‘ Mr. Fleming says there is 
such a beautiful sunset, and you must go with him and see it 
while I sit by Reggie. It will not take you long, and the air 
will do you good, and you have a long night before you.’ 

So this was what they had plotted — for I could see how 
busily they were talking — as they came up the garden ; after 
all, it was only about me. 

‘ We have settled all that, Miss Sefton,’ observed Mr. Flem- 
ing, with his old coolness; Mf you v ’ just fling that lace 
thing over your head, we will go at oncc’ 

^And I will stop with Reggie. Do please go, Aunt Cath- 
erine;’ and Olga put her arms round me and gave me a gen- 


18t) THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LTNDHURST, 

tie little push toward the -steps, and Mr. Fleming held out 
his hand. ^It will only take you a few minutes, and the boy 
is so much bette..’ 

‘ Yes, I think he is, Olga. Mr, Dodd seemed quite surprised 
at the progress he has made since the morning.^ And then 
I let myself be persuaded ; my head felt heavy and tired, and 
the evening air was so delicious. 

I was surprised to see Mr. Fleming unlock the door in the 

Wall. 

‘ We shall see it much better from the common, and the 
air is fresher there,’* he explained ; ‘ and it is just as quiet as 
the garden.’ And then, as ve walked down the field, he said 
hurriedly : ‘ I think Miss Leigh will like to be alone with 
Reggie. She has taken such a wonderful fancy to him, has 
she not ? ’ 

‘Yes; but, then, Olga is so fond of children— most young 
'girls arcv’ And, just to' tease him, I continued, half laugh- 
ing: ‘Yesterday you seemed reluctant to accept her services, 

I recollect quite a little tirade on the subject.’ 

‘ Oh, that is quite another matter,’ he returned, in an em- 
barrassed tone. ‘ I hope you did not think me ungracious ; but 
if you knew how 1 felt when I came in and saw everything so 
fresh and beautiful, and Miss Leigh standing there in that 
apron ’ 

‘ Well, of course it was not very becoming; not that Olga 
would think of that.’ 

‘That is not what I mean at all,’ he returned impatiently; ‘ 
‘but I see you are only joking. It is not for me to notice 
what is becoming to a young lady, though—— ’ he pr.i’sed, and 
then hurried on. ‘ No, it was of something quite different 
that 1 was thinking. 1 had been bothering myself all the 
way home, thinking what a muddle I had made of my life, 
and how everything brings its own punishment. I had just 
made up my mind I was not fit to be in the room with two 
such good women, and then I opened tha door and saw Miss 
Leigh. I felt as though some princess had deigned to visit a 
beggar, and to put his hut in order. Somehow I felt quite 
cru'^hed by it all, and that made me speak out as I did.’. 

‘Yes, i see. But, Mr. Fleming, you do not understand 
Olga; she is one who loves to do a kindness for any one; ’ for 
I did not want him to think that she would not have done the 
same for the oldest and plainest man in her Majesty’s domin- 
ions. 

‘ Do you think I do not know that ?’ and there was a touoli 
of haughtiness in his manner ; he did not like to be misunder- 


LOOKING AT THE SUNSET 


187 


stood. have never met with any one like Miss Leigh be- 
fore; but I am glad to know that there are such people in 
the world. I am afraid I have not been a devout believer in 
human goodness, especially female human nature. It does 
me good to see such a noble exc''ption.^ 

‘ Perhaps your wife — at least ^ I stopped in some con- 

fusion. What was I going to say ? 

He turned round with rather a bewildered air. 

^ We were not speaking of my wife, but of Miss Leigh. Do 
not let us talk of Aline just now. Look at that sunset ! is 
not that glorious — unutterably glorious? One cannot be 
quite hopeless when one looks at that ! ’ 

We had both stopped simultaneously. Sefton Point was 
just below us, and all around us the flashing waters of the 
bay. The western heavens were blazing with marvellous light, 
one color merging into another : now crimson, now rose edged 
with pearl, now a sheet of vivid gold, with a molten, glitter- 
ing sea under it. It seemed to me as I stood there as though 
a door were opened in heaven — as though that flood of glory 
must herald the white-robed messengers of mercy, the guar- 
dian angels of the night, if only our eyes were not too gfross 
to see them. How dim this world must look to them as they 
glide through those mysterious -portals — this little world, 
where man plays his sorry part ! 

I looked at Mr. Fleming as these thoughts passed through 
my mind. He was standing 'W'th folded arms, intently watch- 
ing the spectacle. 

‘ How beautiful, how unearthly it all looks! ^ he murmured. 
^I have never seen any thing quite so flne before. Miss 
Sefton, in the face of all thav pointing to the sea and sky, 
‘ I could not talk of my wife. Some day, when Keggie is 
better — quite well, I mean — I will tell you my miserable story, 
and you will say to me, "Good-by, Mr. Fleming; for I do 
not w^'sh your acquaintance any more.^^^ 

‘ I am sure I shall say no €uch thing.^ 

‘ Will you not ? but you have not heard my story yet. Oh 
1 grant you there are extenuating circumstances ! — young hot 
blood, the wP fulness of boyhood; but there are some things 
that harden a man, that drag him down; and, after all, I 
have been much to blame.’ 

'Perhaps so.’ 

He turned round and looked at me with a smile. 

'Do you think that forgiveness is possible ? but you do not 
know — ingratitude is not a light sin.' 

'No sin is light, Mr. Fleming; but I am one who believes 


188 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


in repentance. A man may go wrong ; but it is never too late 
to retrace his steps. While there is life there is hope; we 
may say that of every human creature.^ 

^How curious!^ he observed, in a musing tone: ^but you 
remind me so much of a friend of mine. Sometimes when 
you are speaking, I seem to hear his voice; he thought, like 
you, that there are infinite possibilities in every human being ; 
he was always talking about such things; ^ he stopped, and, 
by his frown, I could see he was trying to throw off some 
painful recollection. 

^ Mr. Fleming, I am afraid we must go back.^ 

‘ Oh, I had forgotten Keggie for the moment ! Fancy my 
forgetting that boy even for an instan":! Do you know, I 
could not sleep without him last night — ^not properly I mean 
' — I have got so used to feeling him near me; 1 like to know 
I have got him all safe. Isn^t it strange to care for a child 
like that ? I could not have believed it once.^ 

‘ I suppose he is your only child, Mr. Fleming 

I thought he seemed a little surprised at the question. 

‘Yes, there was a girl; but she only lived three months; 
she died in convulsions.^ He turned his face away. ‘ I was 
sorry at the time; but I think I am glad now, and I only 
want Eeggie.^ 

We had reached the pavilion by this time, and found Olga 
sitting beside the boy. She rose directly she saw us, and 
wished us both good -night. 

It was growing dusk, and after a short interval, Mr. Flem- 
ing lighted the lamp and sat down to read; but his attention 
often strayed from his book. Keggie was a little restless at 
first, but after an hour or two he seemed mox’e comfortable, 
and then Mr. Fleming said he would have a nap, and I saw 
nothing more of him until morning, lie was young enough 
to sleep soundly, and there was no reason to disturb him. 
He told me afterward that he had never rested more com- 
fortably. ‘ I felt even in my dreams that I was near him, and 
i knew you would wake me if he got restless again. Now you 
must let me take your place, for you look downright ill this 
morning.^ I told him that I would go across to La Maison- 
nette presently, when Mr. Dodd had paid his early visit, and 
I kept my word. Olga v/as evidently expecting me. 

‘ Oh, you poor thing, how tired you look ! ^ was her first 
greeting. 

‘ Never mind that, Olga dear. Mr. Dodd says that Keggie 
is quite out of danger now, so I am going to leave him to his 
father this morning, and have a nice* rest. Tell Joanne to 


LOOKING AT THE SUNSET. 


189 * 


to Mr. Fleming's lunckeon. He is jko put up the red 
signal if I am wanted. They will do very well for a few 
hours : Mr. Dodd says so — and I confess I am rather worn 
out. 

And then Olga pounced on me and carried me off to my room. 
How cool and comfortable it looked ! My last impression as 
I fell asleep was the remembrance of Olga in her white gown 
closing the brown shutters, while a bee hummed lazily about 
her. 

The next few days passed quietly. At first, Olga and I 
shared the night-nursing between us; but one morning I 
again proposed to Mr. Dodd that Keggie should be moved to 
La Maisonnette, and to my relief he made no objection. ‘ It 
would be so much easier,^ I said; ‘I could have him in my 
own room, and then there would be no need for any more 
sitting up. It is not necessary now, but I do not like leaving 
him.^ 

‘I think the other way would be preferable, and you have 
had enough inconvenience. Miss Leigh was talking to me 
yesterday; she is afraid you will be knocked up. Suppose 
you talk to Mr. Fleming about it. You could easily have the 
boy well wrapped up and carried across. I dare say his father 
would look after him all right; but after such an attack he 
will be weak for a long time, and a woman^s care is best in 
such cases.^ 

I had made my plans, and the next morning I spoke to Mr. 
Fleming; he owned that it was a good idea. Keggie would be 
safe with me, and I should be spared all fatigue. 

^ Oh yes, of course it would work excellently — only ^ 

^ Only you do not feel you can bear to part with the boy ? ^ 

^ Oh, it is not thaV he returned in a tone of great embar- 
rassment; ^I should be quite happy knowing he was over 
there and well looked after. It is only — well, I must say it; ’ 
and then he blurted it out with difficulty : ^ Miss Sefton, you 
have done enough for me — too much. Last night I could 
not sleep for thinking about it all — how I was ever to repay you. 
Oh, it is not so much the money I mean — I could work for 
that ; it is the kindness, the goodness, and all for a stranger I 
Am I not right in saying it is too much ? ^ 

* I do not regard you as a stranger ! ^ 

^Well, perhaps not; but all the same I have no right. 
Look at the nights you have sacrificed, the discomforts you 
have had, and you have been accustomed to such luxuries. 
Oh, I know; Miss Leigh has told meV 
^Miss Leigh is a sad chatterbox, I am afraid. Well, then, 


190 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

if these are your only objections, Reggie can be brought across 
at once/ He did not answer. ‘ Mr. Fleming, I should so 
like to have him, and so would Olga.^ 

I am sure there were tears in his eyes, for he turned away 
and walked to the window, but still he did not speak. 

After a minute I followed him. 

‘ It shall be just as you please. Pray do not distress your- 
self; but I thought by this time you would look on me as your 
friend. There is no question of that sort between friends — 
only that one loves to take trouble.^ 

He turned round at that. 

^ As though you have not taken trouble enough ; as though 
you had not grown pale with watching over my boy. I think, 
the angels, if there are such beings, must be like you and' 
Miss Leigh. There, I will not hold out any longer; it is only 
my pride — because I hate to receive everything and give 
nothing. Shall I bring him down ?^ but I told him there 
was no hurry for an hour. 

His little bed was all ready, and by-and-by he was carried 
across in his father’s arms. Olga had dressed the room with 
flowers. The shutters were open, and one could see a vista 
of green leaves interlaced with slanting sunbeams; some 
climbing roses peeped in at the open window. As Mr. Flem- 
ing laid him down, I saw a lovely little smile flit across the 
white sunken face; but Reggie was too weak to express his 
satisfaction in any other way, only he held his father’s hand 
tightly, as though he feared to lose him. 

I closed the door and left them together. Olga and I sat 
together f c r a long time in our pretty salon, talking over the 
strange week we had passed. Olga seemed as though she 
could not make enough of me. 

'Aunt Catherine,’ she said softly, as she looked at me, ' do 
you know how tired you l^ok ? You have lost your nice pretty 
color, and it is all with nursing Reggie. I do not wonder a 
bit that Mr. Fleming is so grateful.’ 

' I think the hot weather has tried me ; but I sh^ll be able 
to rest now. Olga, you have no idea how thoughtful Mr. 
Fleming is; I never sa/W any one so unselfish. He says that 
he will not bo in our way at all, and that if I will let him 
spend an hour with Reggie in the morning, and another in 
the evening, he will be quite content— that he is perfectly 
happy to let me have him.’ 

' I suppose he means to resume his. old Bohemian life at the 
pavilion ; it will be very dull for him.’ 

'We cannot help that,’ I returned quickly. 'Olga, 1 have 


LA RUE D^EQLISE, 191 

been wanting to ask you something for days — how long will 
Jem^s holiday tutorship last V 

‘ Only for another week, Aunt Catherine/ 

'Well, do you know, my dear, I have been thinking that it 
would be a good plan if I were to ask Jem to join us here. 
I shall still have -to leave you so much alone, and if I have 
to stay here much longer, they may be wanting you back at 
Fircroft, and then Jem will be useful as an escort.' 

1 saw her color rise, but she answered with her usual gen- 
tleness : 

' Oh yes, and Jem may be able to help you. You must do 
as you like about all that. Aunt Catherine. I am very happy 
here, and it will be hard to leave you and Eeggie; but if you 
think it best — well, of course it is for you to decide; ' and 
then, as we heard footsteps moving overhead, we said no more 
on the subject. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

LA RUE D'EGLISE. 

‘We are ourselves 

Our heaven and our hell — tlie joy. the penalty, 

The yearning, the fruition. Earth is hell 
Or heaven.’ 

‘ The Epic of Hadesf 

I had not made this suggestion about Jem without a great 
deal of thought ; but it seemed to me the only way of solving 
my difficulties with regard to Olga. Reggie had wasted away 
to a little skeleton, and it would be weeks before he regained 
strength. During that time I should be responsible for him, 
and as most of the nursing would still devolve on me, Olga 
would be left a good deal alone. Once or twice the thought 
had crossed my mind that one of the sisters from the hospital 
might be induced to take charge of Reggie; but when it came 
to the point I felt reluctant to give him up. He was so little 
trouble now; and I had Olga to help me. As he grew better 
he would lie happily for hours playing with the flowers his 
father brought him, or cuddling a tiny white kitten that Olga 
had discovered about the place. 

Mr. Fleming kept strictly to his two daily visits, and I gen- 
erally took advantage of them — by indulging in a stroll with 
Olga to our favorite point. During the remainder of the day 


192 'tHB SEARCH FOR BASIL LTNBHURST. 


he walked or sketched, or sat reading in the kitchen-garden. 
He had meant to resume his old Bohemian life — dining at a 
restaurant, or preparing his own meals; but I had taken all 
these arrangements into my own hands, I could not bear to 
think of him shifting for himself; besides, I knew his purse 
was growing empty, and he could not leave Keggie and go 
back to work. I had secured a helper for J eanne in the per- 
son of a stout, bright-eyed girl, who was just then looking for 
a situation. Her name was Marie, and, among her other 
duties, I gave her the care of the pavilion, as Madame Perrot 
still wantonly neglected her lodger. During its master^s brief 
absence she swept and dusted and kept it tidy. Marie, too, 
conveyed his meals across to him when Olga and I sat down 
to ours. I was afraid every day that he would remonstrate 
with me on the subject, and kept purposely out of his way; 
but for a little while he held his peace. But one evening he 
left off playing with Eeggie rather earlier than usual, and 
followed me into the garden. I saw directly by his manner 
that he granted to speak to me, and I determined to give him 
the opportunity. 

^ Have you said good-night to Keggie, Mr. Fleming ? ^ 

'Yes; Miss Leigh is with him. I took the liberty of ask- 
ing her to go to him. Miss Sefton, there is something I must 
say to you ; how long is this sort of thing to go on ? ^ 

' Do you mean about Reggie ? Mr. Dodd thinks that I may 
bring him downstairs to-morrow; the change will be good for 
him — he is going on so nicely; but of course he is still very 
weak.^ 

' Oh, it is not about Reggie ! that is not what I mean, at 
all ; but how long am I to go on living on your bounty ? Do 
you know,* and here a dark flush crossed his face — a flush of 
bitter humiliation, ' that I wrote last week to my wife for 
some money ? she has means of getting it for me — for her 
brother is not poor; and her answer was — and of course he 
dictated it: "You have played at being the idle gentleman 
long enough; it is time you and the boy came back. George 
has no money to spare just now. I wonder you are not 
ashamed to ask him.” I told her how ill Reggie had been; 
but she takes no notice. I dare say she has forgotten all 
about it.* 

'Mr. Fleming, there was no need to write to England., I 
can lend you any money you want for jiresent use.* 

' Do you think I would ask you to lend me a franc ? * he 
replied ; and nothing could be prouder than his look. ' Do I 
not owe you enough already ? * 


ZA ntrz pzozi&z!: 


193 


^ You owe me nothing/ 

'Oh no!' with a little laugh; Ht is of course absolutely 
nothing at all that you do for me; it is not the life of an en- 
chanted prince that I am leading at present — oh no ! When I 
come in from my walk, I find my hermitage swept and gar- 
nished; not a speck of dust anywhere; fresh flowers; a new 
book — even the paper. Sometimes I catch a glance of the 
substantial-looking fairy who had worked in my service.' 

'Oh, you mean Marie. Yes, she is a nice creature! and, 
then, she finds so little to do here.' 

'Once I had to cater for myself; to>go into cheap restau- 
rants; to boil smoky water for my coffee; to fetch my own 
milk and eggs from the farm; now I sit in my garden with 
my hands folded and wait. I know that at an appointed 
hour Marie will appear with her tray. I shall dine and sup 
like a king! my coffee is fragrant and rich with cream! 
Miss Sefton, I ask again how long is this going on — how 
long?' and here he drew a long breath, 'Am I to receive 
and not be suffocated with all this kindness ? ' 

I would not answer him lightly — he was too much in earnest 
for that. 

'Mr. Fleming, uo you know I think the generosity is on 
your side, not mine ? You are so good to let me have Reggie; 
we were growing dull at La Maisonnette, and a child is such 
a boon to two women, and you never complain now of being 
lonely without him,' 

'I hope I am not quite so selfish as all that,' he replied 
gravely; 'but. Miss Sefton, there is one thing more that I 
must ask. Reggie is so much better now, and yet Mr. Dodd 
comes to see .him every day, and it will not do to run up a 
long bill.' 

'Do not trouble yourself about that,' I replied; 'that is my 
affair.' 

'I do not understand,' he returned; and I could tell at once 
by his manner tkat I had said the wrong thing, for he seemed 
to stiffen in a moment. ' I hope you do not mean that Mr. 
Dodd will not wait a little until I can settle his account; 
there will be no difficulty about that matter if he will only 
give me time; there are ways and means, and I am not afraid 
of work.' 

' Mr. Fleming,' I said after a moment's hesitation, for I did 
not dare pursue that subject, ' you have never told me what 
your business is. I hope I am not impertinent in asking; 
but I know you will give me credit for a good motive.' 

‘ You have asked rather an awkward question,' he returned 
13 


194 THE SEARCH E6R BA^IL ZYmHURST 


with a quick, nervous laugh. ^ I belong to the unemployed 
at present. When I first went to Oxford, it was with the in- 
tention of studying for the Bar; but, like a fool, I threw 
away all my prospects in life by marrying. Oh! I must tell 
you about all that some day. You should hear it all now, 
only I have to go down to St. Croix for that medicine Mr. 
Dodd forgot to bring, and it is growing late; but I can tell 
you as much as this : when I committed that cursed folly of 
marrying at one-and-twenty, I had to take the first thing that 
offered — a mastership at Jlighgate. The pay was poor enough ; 
but we managed to live within our means, until Aline — well, 
never mind about that. I had to throw it up in a hurry, and 
then we had to fall back upon her brother.^ 

^ Do you mean that you lived with him ? ^ 

‘Yes; Aline is there now. He — Mr. Barton — is not a gen- 
tleman; he does not understand how a man of my education 
feels about things. His business— well, it is retail, and,^ with 
a proud curl of his lip, ‘ it was not likely I could mix myself 
up with that sort of concern. Of course, there are misunder- 
standings; we are not on the same plane, George and I; but, 
in his way, he is good to us. He is trying to get me a clerk- 
ship now, as other things have failed; so I am only doing a 
little literary work at present — writing articles for one or two 
papers : sometimes they give me a book to review. I am ex- 



‘ Then, in that case, Mr. Fleming, you can surely allow me 
to be your banker But he only shook his head. 

‘ People who live like enchanted princes do not require a 
very long purse,^ he returned, with a smile. -1 am my own 
banker at present; I only wish you to know the real state of 
affairs. Now I must go. When may I talk to you again 

‘ Shall we go on the common to-morrow evening ? perhaps 
there may be a sunset.^ 

‘ Yery well, then; I will fetch you. I must wish you good- 
night now.^ 

He looked at me wistfully, and a great sadness seemed to 
come inte his eyes, but he did not say any more. The next 
minute the little gate swung back on its hinges, and I saw 
him striding down the path toward the pavilion. 

The next morning, as I was sitting with Eeggie writing my 
letters, while ho played with some paper figures his father 
had cut out to amuse him, Olga came quickly into the 
room. 

‘Aunt Catherine,^ she said, and there was a little excitement 


LA HUE L^EGLim 


m 


in her manner, want to Speak to you a moment.'^ Do you 
know Monsieur Lefevre has come back, and that his brother 
is dead ? ’ 

I almost started at the name. Reggie’s illness, and my in- 
terest in Mr. Fleming, had made me almost forget why I had 
come to St. Croix; but with Olga’s words came a sudden rush 
of recollection. 

^ How do you know ? who has told you ? ’ for to my knowl-, 
edge Olga had not quitted La Maisonnette that morning, 

‘It was* Marie. I was talking to her just now while I 
warmed Reggie’s beef-tea — you know I like to air my French, 
Aunt Catherine — and Marie is a nice, sensible girl. We were 
talking about St. Sulpice, and she had been relating some 
wonderful legend about that image of the Madonna and child 
in the Lady Chapel, and then she mentioned Pere Lefevre’s 
name. “ He told me that when I confessed to him on Friday,” 
were her words. Of course I questioned her very closely; 
and it is true: he came back last AVednesday, his brother is 
buried, and they had Masses said for the repose of his soul at 
St. Sulpice. Marie said Pere Lefevre looked very worn and 
sad.’ 

‘ Olga, I must go to him this afternoon ! ’ 

‘ I knew you would say that,’ she replied. ^ Oh yes, you 
must go. Aunt Catherine, and I will take care of Reggie; 
And then she continued gently : ‘ It seems as though we have 
forgotten Basil lately; but it is not really so, only dear little 
Reggie has engrossed all our thoughts.’ 

That was true, but I would not allow that Basil haa been 
forgotten. I could not eat my luncheon that day, and the 
moment it was over T set off for St. Croix, quite disregarding 
Olga’s entreaties that I would walk slowly and not fatigue 
myself. What did fatigue or heat matter if only I could 
come at last face to face with Pere Lefevre, and learn from 
him whether Basil were dead or living! I recall that walk 
now with a feeling of surprise. I was so sure that Monsieur 
Lefevre would help me. I had no fears, no misgivings; the 
time of suspense was over. In a day or two Virginia would 
know all — whether she were the mother of a living son or not. 

I remember, as I climbed the steep cliff path, how beauti- 
ful the bay looked beneath me. The children were playing 
on the yellow sands, filling their little pails full of bright 
amber seaweed. I could hear them calling to each other. 
By-and-by I passed the hospital and the cemetery; a young 
widow was kneeling beside one of the graves. How long that 
walk seemed to me! but at last I reached La Rue d’Eglise, 


196 THE SEARCH FOR MSIL LmDHUR^T, 


and stood again before the tall, narrow house. It seemed 
months since I last stood there talking to the solemn-faced 
young priest. The friendly housekeeper seemed pleased to 
see me. 

^Ah ! here is madame again,’ she said with a smile, * and le 
bon pere is actually within. That is well, after the many 
times madame has been turned from the door. Ah, there is 
need for patience in this world!’ Would madame enter at 
once ? and she would tell her master. 

I stood for a minute in the little dark passage. I could 
hear her talking volubly, and a man’s voice answering. Then 
she returned, and ushered me into a small room with a win- 
dow overlooking St. Sulpice. P^re Lefevre was writing. He 
rose at once, with a profound bow. 

‘ Madame has desired to see me,’ he said in a smooth, pol- 
ished voice, as he offered me a chair. ^ I fear, from what 
Marthe tells me, that my long absence has been of great in- 
convenience to madame. Alas ! affairs, not of my ordering 
have detained me! Such things are in the hands of le bon 
Dieu.’ 

I looked at Pere Lefevre as he delivered himself of this 
little speech. He had a meagre, spare figure, but his face 
was pleasing; the dark, sunken eyes were keen and intelli- 
gent. He was evidently a gentleman. His manner was 
suave and gentle, and at once put me at my ease. Perhaps 
he saw how nervous I was, for he went on to speak of his 
brother’s death, and gave me a little sketch of the end, which 
enabled me to recover myself. 

^And now madame must tell me how I can serve her’ he 
said at last. 

In reply, I gave him a brief summary of our history. I 
told him Virginia’s sad story; the misery of her married life; 
her fiight to England, and desertion of her child; her dis- 
eased and lifelong terror of her husband. 

^ If she could only be certain of his death, I think there 
v/ould be some peace for her remaining years,’ I observed in 
conclusion. ^And if she could only gain some clue that 
might aid her in her search for her son, it would give her 
fresh life.’ 

‘And her husband’s name is Paul Lyndhurst ? ’ he asked as 
soon as I had paused. He had listened to my stoij with grave 
attention. Only once, when I first mentioned Paul’s name, 
he had looked up with a surprised air, and his keen glance 
seemed to read me through and through. ‘It is very strange,* 
he muttered; and then he had composed himself to listen. 


LA RUE R^EOLISE. 


197 


^ Yes, monsieur,’ I returned, in answer to his question; 'and 
th^ report has reached us that you attended his death-bed.’ 
'Did yoi^^ informant state where Monsieur Lyndhurst 


died?’ 


‘ He believed at a village near Geneva ; but there is no one 
of that name interred there — the whole account is confused.’ 

Monsieur Lefeyre shook his head. 

'I was never in the neighborhood of Geneva in my life. 
Madame’s informant is altogether wrong. Paul Lyndiiurst 
— le bon Dieu have mercy on his soul ! — lies in the cemetery 
at St. Croix. Madame may see his grave there if she will.’ 

I clasped my hands; the blood seemed to rush to my heart. 

' Mon pere, is this really true ? Oh, it is grievous to rejoice 
that a^iy one is dead! — but if you only knew!’ 

'My daughter,’ he said kindly, 'it is not always easy to 
grieve when death takes our enemy. Human nature is weak. 
We are not all saints. I know enough of this unfortunate 
ms ’ ' ’ ' ' i? 1 > 



He thought a moment. 

' I should say it was nearly ten years ago.’ 

Ten years'! Virginia had been free ten years, and we had 
not known it! 

' Shall I tell madame what 1 know ? ’ And, as I looked ' at 
him imploringly, he went on : 'It was after vespers one even- 
ing, as I was leaviiig St. Sulpice, that an old peasant woman 
accosted me. I knew her by name; she was old Nanette 
Duclos, who lived with her half-witted son in the little tumble- 
down cottage in the narrow alley that leads out of the Rue 
Dominique. It has been pulled down long since. She had 
a strange story to tell me. An Englishman, an artist, was 
lying ill — she believed dying — in her house. He had been 
seized with a sort of fit at her door a week previously, and, 
with the Divine charity one sees among the poor, she had 
nursed and tended him ever since. 

' ‘‘ Mon pere, he is not one of us ; he has known better 
days,” she said. " He cannot eat our food, and all he asks for 
is brandy; and he is dying; and he does not believe in le bon 
Dieu, or in the blessed Mary, he lies there cursing, and 

no one can make him be silent. And he has almost fright- 
ened my poor Pierre to death.” 

‘ I went with her at once, and I found Nanette had not ex- 
aggerated matters. When I stepped up to the miserable bed, 
and looked in the face of the man who lay there, I knew at 
once that he was dying,’ 


198 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 

‘ Mon pore, will you describe him to me ? ^ 

‘ My daughter, it is not easy after all these years, and I 
have seen many dying men since; but I can recall a little. It 
was a handsome face — the features finely cut, but wasted by 
disease, and with ail the evil passions stamped on it. Pie 
looked fiercely at me as I entered. What do we want with 
priests ? heard him say; " I never believed in them.” 

^Ihad some difficulty in entering into conversation with 
him. His manner continued defiant, and his oaths and curses 
made one^s fiesh creep to hear him; but our Holy Church 
teaches us how to deal with such cases: I must win him 
through his miserable appetites. I gained his attention at 
last by promising to send him a better bed, and, if the doctor 
permitted it, some good wine. 

^He ceased to glare at me; a more human expression came 
over his face. “ Why, you are not, such a bad sort, after all! ” 
he said, with an air of extreme surprise. I never thought 
a PYench priest could be such a sensible fellow. Come! I 
call that behaving like a gentleman. Now, I don’t mind en- 
tering into a compact with you. Just see after a few com- 
forts for me, and I will undertake to listen to as many ser- 
mons as you care to preach to me.” 

^ I knew better than to argue with him. There was a fierce, 
unsettled light in his eyes, which resembled insanity. I 
thought it prudent to return a soothing answer, and v/ithdrew 
under the plea of bringing the doctor. When I returned it 
was with a physician; but, as I surmised, there was little to 
be done. 

‘ Yes, he is dying, poor fellow ! ” was his report as he joined 
me in the room below. " This is a case for you, not me. He 
cannot last many days.” 

‘ Is it your opinion,” I asked, that the man is deranged ? ” 

‘ He shrugged his shoulders. It is not his fault that he 
is still sane; he has drunk pretty nearly all his senses away. 
As far as I can tell, he has lived on brandy, and nothing else. 
He is calling out for it now.” 

^ You do not mean that I am to give it him ?” 

‘ “ Certainly — but in small doses — unless he is to collapse 
at once. I tell you, the poor wretch has made it his food for 
months; he will suffer tortures for the want of it; and, after 
all, nothing matters now; he is a dead man.” 

* ‘‘ In that case, I will give him a little,” and I went up at 
once. He almost snatched the cup from my hand in his 
wolfish eagerness. *^Oh, that is good — that is life!” he cried, 
as he drained it, ** Give me some more, and I will call you a 


T-A RUE VEQLISE: 

good fellow!” But he swore at me when I carried the bottle 
away. 

^ Madame, I need not trouble you with * all the miserable 
recital. We poor priests know how hard it is to win these 
wandering souls. He was a great sinner; but God is good, 
and I would not lose hope. I surrounded him with comforts : 
he had a clean bed, fresh linen; one of our good sisters nursed 
him; we induced him to take a little soup; the doctor had 
given him an anodyne; he suffered less; his temper improved. 
Sometimes he would talk to me; by degrees I got him to tell 
me his story. My daughter, some things I regard as under 
the seal of confession. A life such as his could not be edify- 
ing." 

‘ I understand, Pere Lefevne, far too well. Heaven forbid 
that the evil record of Paul Lyndhurst’s life should pollute a 
woman’s ear ! ” 

The good father went on : 

^ By degrees he softened perceptibly. My attentions pleased 
him; he was grateful for the alleviations and comforts I was 
able to procure for him. In spite of his recklessness, a terror 
of the black future that yawned before his sinful soul at times 
haunted him; then he would speak to me of the past." 

^ Did he mention his wife ? " 

little. He told me one day he had married a young 
English heiress for her money; and that, to his disgust, her 
father had disinherited her. “ She was a handsome girl,"" he 
observed; ^^but I was never in love with her. I cared far 
more for the little Pauline I deserted. Sho was always 
whining about her own people. I grew weary of her at last. 
It was a mistake for a man of my calibre to tie himself down 
to matrimony; she lost her good looks, too, when the boy 
came. Ah, well ! I was drunk one night, and I believe we 
had a bit of a quan*el. Anyhow, she left me with the brat 
on my hands, and that is all I know about it."" " 

^ But, mon pere, vdiy did he not seek her for his own inter- 
est ? To be sure, my father was alive for many years after 
that, and would have protected her against him; but, still, it 
seems strange that he should have made no attempt to pos- 
sess himself of her fortune." 

^ I believe he was hopeless on the subject, and, as you say, 
madame, your father lived for many years after your sister 
returned to him. As far as I can make out from a very dis- 
jointed narrative, the unfortunate man rejoiced in his free- 
dom; the child was an incubus, but he bore with him for a 
time, intending by-and-by to rid himself of him by sending 


200 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 


him back to his mother. Meanwhile, things went on from 
bad to worse; his habits grew more depraved; he had an 
attack of delirium tremens, and was removed to a hospital. 
On his recovery he suddenly remembered his hoy; from the 
first he had taken very little notice of him, and but for the 
care of the faithful bonne the little creature would have 
fared badly. He was told now that during his illness they 
had been befriended by an English clergyman who was trav- 
elling for his health; that this unknown benefactor had liter- 
ally fed and clothed the child, and that a strong affection had 
grown up between them ; and that this good friend vdesired 
nothing less than to take the boy back with him to England, 
and to bring him up as his adopted son. 

^ I will give you Paul Lyndhurst^s own words : 

^ I was glad to be rid of him ; and a feeling of revenge 
against the woman who deserted me made me determined not 
to send him back to the Hall. If Virginia wanted him, she 
must make terms with me, Paul Lyndhurst. I wanted to go 
into Italy, and a child and nurse were not to my taste. I 
had an interview with his reverence, and in the end I said, 
^ Leave me your address, and when I want Basil I will send 
for him ; until then you are welcome to him ; ^ for, you see, I 
did not mean to part with the boy out and out. One day ho 
would be rich — I did not forget that.^^ 

^And now I am coming to the strangest part of all. By 
his own account, Paul Lyndhurst lived a wild, reckless life in 
Eome and Naples, but one day he heard of the death of his 
father n-law; it had happened long before, but in his wan- 
derings the news had failed to reach him. 

^If his father-in-law were dead, Basil — his son Basil — must 
be his grandfather^s heir. He must claim him at once; there 
was no time to be lost. Madame, this wretched man was 
actually on his way to England to seek his son when his fate 
overtook him, and he was taken ill at Nanette^s door.^ 

^ Mon pdre, tell me quickly the name of the clergyman.^ 

But Pere Lefevre shook him head. 

^ My daughter, how am I to tell you ? No names were 
mentioned at all between us. With the cunning that seemed 
to belong to him, Paul Lyndhurst never once pronounced the 
name of his father-in-law, the Hall, or the English priest. 

To-morrow you ishall write to his reverence,^^ he said. No, 
I have no address about me; but 1 never forget anything. 
Yes; to-morrow you shall write.” Alas! madame, when the 
morrow came the nurse who was sitting by him heard a slight 
sound, but before she could reach him he was dead I ^ 


ZA RUE D^EGLISE, 201 

^ Dead I Oh no, mon pere — not without telling you where 
Basil was ? ^ 

^Alas! yes, my daughter; we buried him here. Paul Lynd- 
hurst — that was all we could^put. We could find no trace of 
writing— nothing that could prove his wild story. Sometimes 
I have imagined it was the creation of his fancy — the outcome 
of delirium; there were times wheii he did not seem sane; 
how did I know whether thi Basil had an existence ? Just 
to satisfy my conscience, I inserted in an English paper the 
death of Paul Lyndhurst, and added my name; nothing came 
of it, and voild tout, madame.^ 

He looked at me compassionately, as though he feared I 
should be overwhelmed with disappointment; but I started 
form my seat. 

^Mon pere, it was an English clergyman who adopted 
Basil ? ’ 

^ Yes, certainly; so it was affirmed.^ 

^Then in that case it will be easy to discover Basil. We 
can advertise; there can be no difficulty in that; our lawyer 
shall put the matter in hand at once — it shall be in every 
paper; Basil’s adopted father will soon be found. Oh, I have 
hope now ! ’ 

‘ It would be better still if madame could find the bonne. 
Oh, if we only knew her name ! ’ 

‘Ah, as to that, mon pere — Lizette must be an old woman 
now. Perhaps she is not living.’ 

‘ What name did you say, my daughter ? ’ he asked quietly. 

‘ Lizette Dupont.’ 

‘There was a woman of that name living with her grand- 
daughter in the Rue Anglaise. Tenez, madame, permit me 
to ascertain whether she be still living. If you will give me 
your address, I will write to you.’ 

I gave him the address, and with many thanks took leave 
of him. The good old man accompanied me to the door, and 
gave me his blessing. It was to(/ late to do anything more; 
to-morrow I must visit the cemetery and read the name, Paul 
Lyndhurst, for myself; but now I must return to La Maison- 
nette. Olga would be growing uneasy at my delay. A fiacr:) 
passed me; I hailed the driver and jumped in, and throwing 
myself back on the shabby cushions, I closed my eyes wearily, 
and gave myself up to reflection on the miserable story I had 
just heard* 


202 THE SEAKCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

^THE EPIC OF HADES ^ 

* To cure thee of thy pride, that deepest seated ill, 

God humbled His own self — wilt thou thy pride keep still ? 

God humble and man proud ! Do angels, when ihey range 
This ea^lh, see any sight at once so sad and strange ? 

^ « 

He knew, who healed our wounds, we quickly should be fain 
Our old hurts to forget — so let the scars remain.’ 

Archbishop Trench. 

As we drove down the lane I saw Olga standing at the gate. 
Her white gown and great red umbrella had quite a pictur- 
esque effect. She had a bunch of yellow roses in her hand; 
behind her were the brown gate and the sycamore-tree. The 
shutters had all been thrown back to admit the fresh evening 
breeze. Windows and doors were open, curtains fluttering. 
As I walked up the courtyard I had glimpses of the shady 
garden. Jeanne was coming from the well with a green and 
yellow cruche. Her apron was filled with corn for the fowls. 
I could hear them clucking in expectation. 

Olga drew me into the drawing-room. The little tea-table 
stood in one window, the big easy-chair beside it; there was 
a perfume of roses, and heliotrope, and mignonette. Olga 
put her arms softly round me. 

‘ How tired you look. Aunt Catherine ! and, yes, you have 
been crying; your eyes are quite wet. What is the matter, 
dea^ ? Is it another disappointment ? and you have been so 
long away — all the afternoofi 1 ^ 

I put up my hand to my face in some surprise. Were my 
eyes really wet ? I knew nothing about it. 

‘Oh, it is all so sad,^ I replied with a sigh; ‘and Pore 
Lefevre could tell me so little about Basil : only that when 
he was quite a baby — at least, not more than two years old — - 
a clergyman took him to England and brought him up as his 
own son.^ 

I saw Olga start; she was pouring me out some tea, and 
her hand trembled so that she spilt some. 

‘ Ob, Low awkward I aml^ sh^ said with a little laugh; but 


* THE EPIC OF HADES 


m 

her face was quite pale ; ^ but of course you know the clergy^ 
man’s name ? Pere Lefevre will have told you/ 

^ That is just what he does not know himself/ I returned 
in a vexed tone— ^ neither his name nor the place where he 
lives. We shall have to advertise in the Times and the 
Guardian, and, indeed, in all the papers, until v/e find Basil’s 
adopted father ; but there is one thing I know, Olga, that, if 
you will, we may stand together to-morrow at the grave of 
Paul Lyndhurst/ 

^ Is he buried here ? ^ she asked in an awestruck voice, ^ Oh, 
tnen, you have learned something this afternoon ? Oh yes, 
we will go, and then you can really tell poor Mrs'. Lyndhurst 
that you have seen his name, and that she need not fear him 
again. I think that she has never qui^e got rid of the terror 
that one day she might see him.’ 

^ I iinow it was her mania; no one could persuade her out 
of it; that was why she would never leave the Hall for a 
single day. Poor dear Virginia! Dr. Langham sdid at last 
that it was hysteria; her nerves were too much worn; she 
could not be reasohable; but, Olga, think of the pity of it: 
he has been dead ten years, and Virginia did not know! ’ 

^ Ten years ! do you think you can tell me all about it : 
Aunt Catherine, or are you too tired ? Mr. Flemming is with 
Keggie, and he says that I am to let him know if you wish to 
go out with him this evening. It is not yet six; but if you 
are too tired ’ and she looked into my face very gravely. 

^ Oh, it is impossible ! I could not listen to him to-night,’ 
I said wearily; ^ I should be thinking of that miserable story 
I have just heard, and how we are to find Basil. Mr. Flem- 
ing will not mind, if I put him off until to-morrow.’ 

^He will not mind at all,’ she returned quietly; ^it must be 
as you like. Aunt Catherine.’ 

^ Then I would rather talk to you instead,’ was my reply, 
and as she placed herself beside me, I related all that Pere 
Lefevre had told m.e. Olga was always a good listener. It 
was not her way to interrupt people; but now she sat so 
motionless, with her face half hidden by her hand, that once 
or twice I stopped in my narrative. 

^Go on; please tell me all,’ she would say when I paused, 
and I would take up the thread again. 

^It is horrible — ^horrible!’ she exclaimed when I had fin- 
ished; ^how can there be such God-forsaken souls anywhere 
when,’ dropping her voice reverently — ^ when Christ has died. 
How very difficult life is. Aunt Catherine ! One cannot un- 
derstand.’ 


204 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURST 


^ It is a mystery/ I returned ; ‘ there is so much that is un- 
knowable. Some of us have to stumble on in ^rkness all 
our lives; the light is hidden from our eyes. How do we 
know? Just at the last God may have spoken to him; He 
may have heard and answered. It is never for us to judge 
between the most sinful soul and its Creator.^ 

‘ You are right. Aunt Catherine. I like your merciful 
creed : people are too prone to judge, to pronounce condem- 
nation. Do not talk about it any more; I can see how it has 
tried you. There is something I want to show you that I 
think will interest you. Mr. Fleming lent me a book to-day, 
because he said I should be dull without you, and he brought 
it across this afternoon. It is the Epic of Hades." I re- 
member you liked it so much; but I have not read a page 
yet." 

^ It is a very good book/ I replied as I took it carelessly. 
Evidently Olga wanted to distract my thoughts; but I was 
not in the humor to discuss the ^Epic of Hades." I opened 
it at random, just noting the pencil-marks on the margin of 
the pages; favorite passages had been underlined. It had 
been well read. At last I turned to the title-page, and then 
an involuntary exclamation escaped me. Olga was watching 
me; she drew a long breath of relief. 

^ You recognize it, then. Aunt Catherine ?" 

Recognize it ! how many years had passed since I had seen 
that handwriting ? Six-and-twenty years — nay, more — and I 
had been a girl then; but I knew it at once. It was not a 
handwriting that could be easily forgotten. It was character- 
istic of its owner — large, benevolent, and yet a trifle angular, 
betraying a marked individuality and originality. 

‘ Basil Fleming, from his affectionate friend, Robert Lucas 
Fleming, St. Mark"s, Leeds." This was ail. 

Olga left me and went outside for a few minutes. She 
wanted me to recover myself; but I could only sit there look- 
ing at that one name — Robert. I was impatient at myself at 
last at this emotion after half a lifetime of silence. Oh, what 
fools we women are! The hair grows gray while the heart 
is young; there are wrinkles on the face, and the pulses still 
beat as quickly. Why are we so slow to learn our .lesson — 
that youth has fled and taken all our precious things with it; 
that between us and them there is a gulf fixed ? It was not 
the Robert Fleming I once knew who had written those few 
words. This was an older Robert — a man who had grown 
gray in his Master’s service. Only his handwriting was the 
same. 


' THE EPIC OE HAEES,' 


m 


‘ Good- Catherine — my Catherine/ had been his last 
Words to me; ‘it is n^'t God^s will that we should be happy 
together; not yet — not in this world. Let us try to submit 
ourselves;^ and then he had left me. Had he lived ':;ingle 
for my sake, as I for his, or had any ether woman become 
dear to him ? He had not married, that was all I knew. 

^Aunt Catherine/ and Olga touched me gentiy, ^ do you 
feel better now ? Ok, I know I have given you a shock; and 
his name is Basil.^ 

I was so bewildered that I could not take in her meaning. 

I read the inscription again : ‘ Basil Fleming, from his affec- 
tionate friend, Kobert Lucas Fleming.^ To be sure, what 
could it mean ? 

‘ Is it — can it be Basils — your Basil, Aunt Catherine ? ^ she 
whispered in my ear. 

I put my hands on her shoulders, and almost pushed her 
away in my excitement. I did not seem as though I could 
understand, and yet — — 

‘ Do you not see/ she continued gently, ^ how strangely it 
all seems to fit in ? A clergyman in England has adopted 
him; he may even have given him his name. It is your Mr. 
Fleming, and perhaps Basils * 

But I would not let her gi on. 

‘ How do we know ? Olga, it is not possible ! Why do you 
excite me like this ? Are there no pther Basils in England ? 
No, you must not delude me with such hopesl ^ 

^ But if it be true. Aunt Catherine ? ^ 

^How do I know that it true? How do I know any- 
thing until he tells me ? Oh, I was wrong to say I would not 
go out with him! I cannot sleep until he answers this ques- 
tion: What have he and Kobert Fleming to do with each 
other ? ^ 

^Dear Aunt Catherine, you shall ask him that question; 
but you must not agitate yourself like this. You will frighten 
Mr. Flehiing, and he will not know how to talk to you.^ 

^But, Olga, if what you suspect is true, and he is really 
Basil ’ 

And then I could say no more, but could only cling to Olga 
and weep ; for it seemed to me as though it could not be true * 
that Providence had not this rich gift in store for us; that it 
must be a dream, a hallucination ; that, after all, we must be 
deceiving ourselves, Robert Fleming might only be a friend 
— a chance acquaintance. Were there not other Basils in 
England.? I was so shaken, so bewildered with it all, that ^ 
covud only cry softly to myself. 


206 THE SEARCH EOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


Olga behaved beautifully ; she made me lean gainst her^ 
and only said a quiet, soothing word at intervals. It might 
not be true^; 1 must not distress myself; but it v/oald be nice 
to hear about an old friend, and perhaps Mr. Fleming could 
tell me about him; ‘ and even — even if he be the wrong Basil, 
perhaps your Mr. Fleming will help vou to find him,^ she 
finished. 

Just at this moment we heard footsteps descending the 
little wooden staircase. I sat up at once and tried to com- 
pose myself, and Olga looked at me in a questioning manner. 

^ Shall I call him?' she whispered; but as I hesitated the 
footsteps came nearer; there was a quick, light tap at the 
door, and Mr. Fleming came into the room. 

‘ Eeggie is asleep,' he began, ^ and I wanted to know ' 

and then he stopped and looked lit us both. am intrud- 
ing; you are not well. Miss Seftou. I beg your pardon.' 

‘ Aunt Catherine is very tired,' whispered Olga. 

She wished to shield me,' but I put her aside almost impa- 
tiently. 

^ What does it matter if I am tired ? Mr. Fleming, I should 
like to walk with you to the Point; the air will do me good.' 

•Are you sure that you are quite fit for it?' he returned, 
with such an air of concern that the tears rushed to my eyes 
again. ‘Something has been troubling you. Miss Leigh 
looks anxious,' with a quick glance at her. 

Olga's color rose a little, but she was quite equal to the sit- 
uation. 

‘You are right; Aunt Catherine has been agitated. She 
has much to trouble her. If she would only keep quiet until 
to-morrow ! but it is for her to decide.' 

‘I should like to go,' I replied quickly; but my limbs 
trembled as I rose from my seat. 

I saw Olga and Mr. Fleming exchange looks, but neither of 
them said a word. Olga brought me my bonnet, and wrapped 
a little shawl round me, and Mr. Fleming quietly gave me 
his arm. 

‘Perhaps the air will be the best tonic, after all,' he said, 
as we turned into the field-path; but I made no answer. 

The book was still in my hand ; I was thinking how I 
could ask him that question. Mr. Fleming became silent in 
his turn. We passed the firs, and strolled quietly down the little 
path that led to the Point. As soon as we had reached it, he 
spread the rug Olga had given him, and then placed himself 
at my feet. The shore beneath us was strangely still this 
evening; the tide was low, and the stretch of yellow sands. 


* THE EPIC OF HAPES: 


207 


with the boulders and masses of bright-colored seaweed, 
seemed b^re and empty; one could hear the sof^ lapping of 
the water. A bell was tinkling from the hospital on the cliff ; 
a little boat with a red sail was coming across the bay; the 
opposite shore seemed bathed in a strange silvery light. Mr. 
Fleming drew his gray cap over his eyes; a long sigh escaped 
him. 

'And I have to talk about myself?^ he said in a voice of 
suppressed bitterness. 

'Yes/ I replied; 'but not just now. 'I want you to tell 
me something else first ; ^ and I pushed the book toward him 
as I spoke. . ' I want you to tell me how you came to know 
Robert Fleming?’ 

My question seemed to surprise him ; he looked at the in- 
scription, anid then at me. 

' Do you know him ? ’ he asked in a tone of excessive aston- 
ishment. 'He has never spoken of you to me — ^never; and 
I knew ali his friends.’ 

'Perhaps not. *1 have not seen him since I was a girl; it 
is not likely that he would mention me. But this is not the 
question. What I want to know is your relationship to 
Robert Fleming.’ 

'Then I will tell you in a. few words. In one sense there 
is no relationship between us; in another, I owe him every- 
thing. When I was a child — ^a poor neglected little creature 
with no one to care for me but an ignorant peasant woman, 
• who was my bonne — ^he adopted me, educated me, and brought 
me up as his own son. My dear lady, what ails you ? you are 

ill ! please let me fetch Miss Leigh ’ 

No, no!’ I gasped; 'it is nothing; let me be quiet a 
moment; it will pass;’ but as I hid my face in my hands a 
sob escaped me. /O ray God! it is Basil,’ I said to myself, 
and a sort of giddiness came over me. I had a dim conscious- 
ness that my hands were drawn away very gently, and that 
my dear boy was chafing them in his own. 

‘ They are icy cold,’ I heard him murmur, ' what can be 
the matter ? ’ 

After a time I recovei;ed myself. Yes, I could listen now; 
the faintness had passed. 

'I am better/ I said, trying to smile. 'lam so sorry I 
frightened vou. I ^supnose Olga was right, and I have tired 
myself.’ 

' But you will let me take you home now ? ’ he said in a 
caressing voice. 

'Not for worlds/ I replied firmly; 'it was only giddiness; 


208 TItE SEAnCH Eon BASIL LYNBEURST. 


it has quite left me. I am perfectly comfortable here with 
this nice stone to rest against, and it is so quiet. am long- 
ing to hear your story. When Mr. Fleming adopted you, dSi 
he give you his name at the same time ? ^ 

^T. will tell you .all I know; but that is very little. Mr. 
Fleming was travelling abroad when he found me. He noticed 
me first, and then the people of the house told him about me. 
My father was in a hospital. I had no one belonging to me 
but my bonne; the poor creature was in great trouble and 
perplexity. She had no money, and but for the kindness of 
strangers we should have starved. " I permit them to occupy 
the gi.,rreV^ the mistress of the house told him; ^^but I tell 
Lizette that she must apply to the Maire. I have children 
of my own to clothe and feed.’^ I was too young to remem- 
ber this time; but Mr. Fleming has often recalled the day 
when he came up to our garret, and how. I ran across the floor to 
him and clasped him round the knees, and called him daddy.^ 
^ My heart went out to you then, Basil,^^ he has said to 
me since, " when I lifted you up and you laid your dark curly 
head against me, and I felt your childish arms round my 
neck. We were fast friends from that hour, and never a day 
passed without a visit to the garret.^^ 

was a mere baby; but I certainly remember a tall man 
who took out his watch to show me, and who brought me 
playthings and bonbons, and how I climbed on his knee, and 
called him daddy. 

^ One day he took me in his arms. I am your father now,* 
BasiV^ he said to me; "^‘you are given to me.^* Later on, 
when I could understand, he explained to me that my own 
father had gone away, and had given me into my friend’s 
keeping. 

You are to live with me, and be my little boy until he 
comes to fetch you,” that was all he ever told me of my 
fa+her; and once, when I asked why my name was Fleming, 
he told me my father had not wished me to bear his name; 
but he never hinted at any reason.’ 

‘ And Mr. Fleming brought you to England ? ’ 

^ Yes, and I remember I was se^-sick, and cried for my 
bonne; everything else was indistinct. One of my earliest 
recollections was playing with a Dandy Dinmont called Pep- 
per on the hearthrug, and of a nice motherly young woman 
whom I called Martha, and who washed and dressed me with 
her own children. And I remember that I always slept in a 
little bed in Mr. Fleming’s room, and that I cried if the watch 
were not under my pillow — but I shall weary you ? ’ 


^THE EPIC OF hades: 


209 


no! if you only knew how every little detail interests 

me!^ 

^ You are ve”y good to listen to me at all,’ he replied in a 
low tone; ^but 1 need not linger over these early days. Mr. 
Fleming had brought me to his own. lodgings. He lived’ in 
a road leading to St. Mark’s. It was a high narrow house, 
and had a long strip of garden at the back, wnere we youngr 
sters played. Mr. Fleming lives there still.’ 

'And he is still the. curate of St. Mark’s.’ 

' Yes,’ with a quick glance at me, as though my trembling 
voice arrested his attention, ' he is the senior curate; there 
are two others; it is a large parish, and a very poor one. 
Once or twice a country living has been offered him; but he 
has always refused it. He says he will live and die at. St. 
Mark’s among his poor people. I have heard it said that 
when Mr. Car her t. dies — he is the vicar, and an old man now 
— the bishop will offer the living to Mr. Fleming.’ 

' Will he accept it ? ’ 

'Most certainly he will; the position will just suit. him; 
there is not a man, woman, or child that he does not know, 
and they are all devoted to him. " Our Mr. Fleming,” that 
is what they call him.’ 

'And all these years he has been poor?’ 

'Not so very poor,’ he answered quickly; 'he had a little 
money left to him before he adopted me, and this enabled 
him to send me to a good school, and afterward to Oxford. 
He grudged me nothing, and yet he spent absolutely nothing 
on himself.’ 

' And he is living still in the old house at Gresham Street ? ’ 

'Yes, do you know it?’ in. some surprise. 'No. 27; and 
Martha still takes care of him. Her husband is dead, and tall 
her children except Patience are married and out in the 
world.’ 

'And you have lived with him there all these years, Basil ? ’ 

The name escaped me involuntarily. I saw him look at 
me, and a smile came to his lipS. 

'How strange to hear you call me that! but I like it — I 
like it.’ 

'I beg your pardon,’ I returned in some confusion. 

' Do I not tell you I like it ? ’ was the reproachful answer. 
'I wish you would always call me Basil. Yes, I lived with 
him off and on until I married. We were very comfortable; 
we had a big room running from front to back.' Mr. Flem- 
ing kept all his books in the back part, and we called it the 
study. We had a round table and some big arm-chairs in the 


210 THE mAECH FOR BA^IL LYNDHURf^T, 


front part, and that was our dining-room. I never seemed 
to interrupt him ; he would write his sermons while I smoked 
or played with Scamp, who was Pepper’s successor. When 
he came in tired from his labors in the parish he always 
Lcemed to like to see me there. There you are, Basil,” I 
can hear him say now; ‘^just help me off with my coat, 
there’s a good lad, and let us be comfortable.” Oh, those 
were happy days ! ’ he finished with a groan. 

‘ And he sent you to Oxford ? ’ 

^ Yes; I was giving him trouble, and he hardly knew what 
to do with me. Public-school life had turtfed me out a rest- 
less, conceited sort of fellow, with a strong belief in my own 
brilliant abilities, and a lofty disdain for what I called narrow 
opinions. My success at school had spoilt me. I had grown 
up self-willed, with a dangerous love of pleasure, and a de- 
cided tendency to choose my friends for amusement rather 
than edification; any opposition, any attempt to guide and 
restrain these weak and evil inclination^, only irritated me; 
even the mild advice and loving admonitions of my dearest 
friend only excited my impatience. I remember how often I 
ended an argument with the remark, We of the younger 
generation think otherwise, Mr. Fleming. Thank goodness! 
we live in a more enlightened age^” and I remember how his 
grieved silence was his only answer. 

^ I had gained a scholarship, and as my great wish was to 
go to Oxford and afterward to study for the Bar, it was de- 
cided that I should go to Exeter. The evening before I left 
Leeds he spoke to me with unusual seriousness; he mentioned 
my faults one by one, and implored me to struggle against 
them ; he warned me of the temptations of University life. 

Your pride and love of popularity will lead you into danger, 
Basil,” he said. ^‘With your pleasure-loving temperament, 
and, pardon me if I speak plainly, your self-indulgence and 
dislike of denying yourself any present gratification, you will 
certainly fall into serious difficulties unless your corrective be 
hard work and the friendship of men worth knowing. My 
boy, for eighteen years you have been my one thought; do 
not disappoint me I ’ 

* I was in a softened mood that evening, and I listened to 
him with unwonted patience. I remember telling myself as 
I went up to my little room that he would have reason to be 
proud of me — that I would distinguish myself at Oxford. I 
fell asleep and dreamed I was on the Woolsack. I was full of 
spirits the next morning, and quoted the dream as a favorable 
ivugury of the future. Mr. Fleming only shook his head. 


211 


THE END OF A SUMMER IDTL. 

^"My boy/^ he said sadly, ^‘1 do not believe in aiigtiries; I 
•would rather have you a good man than see you Chancellor of 
England ^ 

^He was HghV I murmured. 

^ Yes, he was right, I know it now; but I was a self-will^ 
young fool then; I would not learn my lesson until bitter ex- 
perience taught it to me. At that time I preferred the devil’s 
teaching. Miss Sefton, it was an evil day that I went to 
Oxford; but I mean to pass over my year at Exeter very 
quickly. I do not wish to shock your ears, and the retro^ 
spect of this part of my life is very painful to me.’^ 


CHAPTER XXIir.’ 

THE END OP A SUMMER IDTLi 

‘ I require no argument to urge hie to be kind to d ^tty woman/ 

^Fair Maid of Perth, \ 

*A wilful man must have his way.’ 

• 2%e Antiquary,* 

All this time the strain on my mind and attentioh had been 
terrible. I had followed every word with famished eagerness. 
How often in the old days had 1 wearied Heaven with nrayers 
that the silence between us might be broken, and that I might 
at least have the consolation of hearing something of the life 
Robert Fleming was leading. But it is one of the sad mys- 
teries that seem to wall in human souls in tangible darkness 
that such prayers are often left unanswered. And yet if we 
would only wait long enough, if the precious .ointment of our 
faith were not all poured out upon our idols, if we could be- 
lieve that the blackness of our cloud would be relieved by a 
silvery lining, if we would possess our souls iii patience in- 
stead of lashing them into wild rebellion, it might still be 
well with us ! 

Oh, it was easy for the middle-aged Catherine to preach 
philosophy! But for the young, girlish Catherine, stretch* 
ing out her hands with pitiful yearning for the birthright of 
happiness— the rightful heritage of her youth — it was not 
quite so easy. One cannot see through blinding tears, A 
bruised heart cannot moralize. 


212 thm ^mauch pan pasil LmmnmT. 


If only Basil would have told me more! Oli yes, I called 
Jiim Basil to myself ‘with a strange thrill and lingering over 
the word ! I hardly dared looked at him for fear he read the 
truth in my eyes. 

• You are my boy and hers! ^ That is what I longed in say 
to him. But I must hear his story first. If only he v ould 
have told me more of that life in Gresham street! But, v/ith 
a man’s impatience of details, he was hurrying on to a more 
marked episode of his existence. I noticed that as he began to 
speak again he turned his face aside; but I could see his 
features working. A sombre and gloomy light had come into 
his eyes. 

commenced my University life with Mr. Fleming’s warn- 
ing ringing in my ears. Before many months had -passed it 
was more than verified. I was considered the most popular 
man in college. I had a host of acquaintances, but few friends. 
Sober-minded reading men avoided my company ; but all the 
wild, versatile youths gathered round me, and helped me to 
waste time and substance. Not in the riotous living of the 
prodigal — ^thank Heaven I never fell so low as that ! — but in 
unprofitable discussions, in festive gatherings that unfitted 
me for my work. 

‘ Maiiy of my friends were unsettled in their views; to them 
there was nothing sacred in heaven and earth. I did not 
openly avow myself an Agnostic, or a follower of the black 
philosophy, but the simple truths I had been taught by a 
good man seemed to shrink into nothingness. What do we 
want with creeds ? ” they would say. The people are not to 
be led in leading-strings any longer; natural religion is all 
that w’e went.” Oh, it makes me sick to remember the cant 
phrases of our soulless philosophy — ^utter negation, absoluto 
impossibility of knowledge, of the finite mind measuring the 
infinite! This is what we taught, fools that we were — sifting 
our puny knowledge, as the child digs his little pit in the 
sand to hold the ocean ! 

^When I went home for my first vacation, Mr. Fleming 
received me with an air of restraint. He looked worn and 
anxious, and, though his affection for me was evidently the 
same as ever, the old unrestrained intercourse seemed im- 
passible. Often I saw him look at me sadly, as though he 
were waiting for my confidence, but no word of reproach 
passed his lips. Alas ! for the first time, 1 was eager to leave 
him. The quiet atmosphere seemed to stifle me. I longed 
for my lawless freedom and brilliant debates — the society of 
my so-called fi’iends. 


thb end on a summer idyl. 


218 


^ I had one friend in particular, Stewart Morton. He was 
a man of some consideration; his family was old and wealthy, 
but his father and brother were well known for their free^ 
thinking opinions. Stewart had already made his mark at 
Oxford. He had undeniable abilities, he was clever and witty, 
and his brilliant conversation and attractive person blinded 
people to his faults; but, as a man, he was wholly without 
principle. I was in the habit of taking long walks with him, 
partly for exercise, and partly to carry on those discussions 
in which we both delighted. ’ His dangerous sophistries were 
rapidly undermining my moral nature. 

‘After a time his stronger intellect dominated me. But for 
Stewart Morton I should never have met my fate. One after- 
noon, or really early evening, we found ourselves in a village 
some miles away from our college. We were tired and hun- 
gry and thirsty, and even Stewart’s brisk tongue had flagged 
a little. We were sauntering down a field where some hay- 
makers were at work. One of these, a girl, attracted our at- 
tention. She was moving slowly between the cocks, raking 
up the loose hay. She wore a blue cambric dress and a white 
sun-bonnet. There was something regal in her gait; she 
looked like a princess who was playing at being a rustic. As 
we passed her, she leant on her rake and looked at us. 

‘ By the powers, what a beautiful girl ! ’’ observed Stewart 
in my ear. What a subject for an idyl! by Jove! yes, and 
I will speak to her;” and, prompted by mischief, Stewart 
put his words into practice. 

^Taking off his hat with his finest air, he informed the 
girl that we had lost our way, and were weary and starving. 
AVas there a farm house near where v/e could obtain refresh- 
ment ? And then he added, with glib falsehood, that his 
friend, pointing to me, was just recovering from an illness, 
and that he feared the effect of the long walk before us in 
our present fasting condition. I saw the girl look at me. 
She had large soft eyes, like a gazelle, with a sort of appeal- 
ing sadness in them. 

‘ “ There is Mr. White’s house,” she returned — the red- 
brick house you see yonder; they are very kind, hospitable 
people. I am staying with them. I do not think they would 
refuse a glass of milk to a stranger; shall I go and ask them ? ” 
with another shy glance at me. 

‘ May we go with you ? ” suggested the young hypocrite ; 
‘^you can walk as far as the house, Fleming, can you not ?” 

‘ Oh yes! ” I returned rather sulkily, for his little fiction 
displeased me. There was no need to have invented that 


214 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LTNDHURST. 

story of my illness; but Stewart was in one of his miscluev- 
OU8 moods. 

‘ Your friend does not look delicate,” observed the girl 
In some surprise. She spoke in a low deep voice; the accent 
was not perfectly refined. As she spoke she took off her sun- 
bonnet and fanned herself with it, as she walked between us. 
She was wonderfully handsome. The shape of her head was 
beautiful, and there was something classical in the smooth 
dark hair, drawn off the white forehead and coiled in glossy 
plaits behind. Her figure was large, but finely moulded, and 
there was an air of gravity about ^er that added to my inter- 
est in her. 

"“He is not naturally delicate,” commenced Stewaii pro- 
vokingly; “but an illness always pulls dpwn a fellow. You 
are pretty fit now, aren’t you, Fleming — only in a starving 
condition ? ” 

" What more he meant to add is buried in oblivion, for at 
that moment a stout comely woman, with pink ribbons in 
her cam, came out of the farmhouse. 


" “ Whoever are yon brining along with you. Aline ? ” she 
asked in apuzzled tone, shading her eyes from t he sun ; but be- 
fore .the girl could answer, Stewart, hat in hand, was beside her. 
I heard 'the explanation again — long walk; two undergradu- 
ates; otmnf them recovering from an illness; impossible to 
get him back without refreshment; he would not answer for 
the consequences. 

"“Dear sakes! just hear him,” she interposed in quite a 
flurry; “poor young gentleman ! Isn’t it lucky, Aline, I have 
just masked the tea ? I am sure you are welcome, gentle- 
men, if you will honor us by sitting down with us. White! ” 
bustling into the passage, “ wherever is that man, I wonder ? 
White, here’s company; two of our Oxford gentlemen dead 
beat and fasting. Aline, get some more plates, and tell Jane 
to dish up that ham. You are kindly welcome, young gen- 
tlemen ! ” 

"I do not know how Stewart felt, but I was tolerably 
ashamed of his wholesale fibs, as these kind, homely creatures 
dispensed their simple hospitality. Mr. White, whose florid 
face matched his wife’s ruddiness, shook hands with us heartily* 

‘ “ It is not the first time that young puss. Aline, has 
brought in gentlemen,” he said with a wheezy laugh and » 
knowing wink at the girl. 

" I thought she looked distressed; she colored and went out 
of the room without speaking. On her return she sat down 
opposite me and began to cut bread-and-butter. I could not 


te:e Em OF a isummer idyl. 


215 


take my eyes off her. It was not so much her singular beauty 
that charmed me as her gravity, her silence, and the strange 
pathos of those dark eyes. Once or twice as she looked at 
me a sort of shiver passed over me, a thrill of expectation 
that went through me. Now and then she offered me some- 
thing; but I noticed she never spoke or looked at Stewart. 
He was chattering in his clever, heedless way for the benefit 
of his host and hostess. Now and then the farmer leant back 
in his elbow-chf :r with a loud guffaw that made the tears run 
down his cheeks; but Aline never smiled. When tea was 
over, I was standing by the window a moment, when Aline 
suddenly paused beside me. 

‘“Have you been ill?” she said, fixing her strange eves 
on me. 

‘ “ No,” I returned in a vexed voice; “it was only his non- 
sense. I have never been ill in my life.” 

‘ “ I thought so, you looked so strong; then you do not tell 
stories like him ? ” 

‘ I shook my head, and then added hastily : 

‘ “ He meant no harm, it was only his fun ; he is really very 
nice when you know him.” 

‘ “ Humph! I think I like you best,” she replied, and an 
odd little smile played round her lips; and then she leant out 
of the window and picked some roses.’ 

‘ My poor boy, I can imagine the rest/ as he paused to take 
breath. 

‘ Yes, it is easy to imagine it/ he returned hurriedly, ‘ if 
you had only seen Aline that evening; it was an idyl — it fas- 
cinated us both ; that dark wainscoted parlor — the girl in her 
blue dress, offering us the roses. “Will you come again?” 
that was what she said to me as I went out dizzy and bewil- 
dered with the novelty of my sensations. 

‘“What a Ruth!” observed Stewart as we walked down 
the lane. ‘ I wonder if there be a Boaz in the background 
— my lady Ruth favors you, Fleming. I ht 'rd that pretty 
v/hisper just now; I am half inclined to cut you out, only, 
you see, I am so uncommonly good-natured. Go in and win, 
my boy ; it will be rare sport to watch you — haymaking and 
syllabubs; tea and ham in the parlor. I had no idea you 
were such a gay Lothario.” 

‘ It was profanation to hear him talk like this. Must there 
always be a Mephistopheles when Faust meets his Margaret ? 
Those deep sad eyes haunted me ; the touch of the cool, soft 
hand still lingered in mine. Hitherto I had been fancy free; 
for the first time I felt the tingling of a new passion in my 


216 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBfiURST. 


veins. That nignt before I slept I determined to see her 
again, and without Stewart. 

^ From that day I took solitary walks, and they invariably 
ended at Cross Farm, I had always a kindly welcome from 
Mrs. White and her husband; I think they weise proud of 
the handsome girl who was their guest, and a suitor or two 
were to be expected. They made no objection if I invited 
Aliiie-to take a stroll with me in the fields to admire the sun- 
set; sometimes she walked back through the lanes with me. 

‘ Aline always blushed with pleasure when she saw me, but 
after the first few minutes she invariably relapsed into grav- 
ity: she spoke little except in answer to my questions; but 
her manner was full of intelligence, and she never repelled 
me by any vulgarity. She was not a gentlewoman by birth ; 
that was evident to me at once. She told me frankly that her 
brother — her only reinaining relative — had a small shop in 
Holloway. 

* ‘‘ George is very kind to me, but I find the life dull,^^ she 
said once. I do not like serving in the shop — the people 
stare so; I tell George I want to be a governess, but he will 
not hear of it. He has sent me here that I may get rid of the 
idea, and also because he is angry with me ; and her eyes 
filled with tears, 

^ How I longed to kiss them away ! But that evening she 
would hot tell me the reason of her brother's anger. At 
times her sadness — her utter despondency — ^infected me; I 
felt as though I were under the influence of some power that 
I could not resist. There were times when I thought I was 
not in love — when I wanted to break away from her and be 
free; sometimes I would part with her almost coldly, but in 
a day or two the desire to see her again, to be near her, would 
be too strong for me. 

^ I knew nothing of her real character; she was reserved 
with me; she neither invited nor permitted any love-making 
on my part; she liked me, and frankly told me so, but there 
was no coquetting on her part. 

^ One day I had driven over to spend an hour with her, 
when I found her looking flushed and excited; I thought her 
manner strange. 

^ George is a tyrant ! ” she said, as I asked anxiously what 
was the matter. ^^He insists on my marrying a man old 
enough to be my father. He is a grocer, too, but in a large 
way. He says I have given my word to marrj him.” 

^ Is that true. Aline ? ” 

^ ^^Yes, it is true,” she replied, bursting into tears; ^^but I 


THE END OF A SUMMER IDYL. 


217 


would rather die than marry him. Basil, if you care for me, 
why do you not save me from George ? I cannot keep my 
word — I should murder Nathaniel or myself. Ohl you do 
not know, but it is almost driving me out of my mind! 
and, Basil, you know you care for me."' 

^ I love you, dear," I returned passionately, for she was 
clinging to me, and sobbing like a broken-hearted child, and 
her beautiful face was wet with tears. How could I know ? 
— I was only one-and-twenty, and I was not one who knew 
the ways of women. If I had been a little older — — . But 
there, let me hurry on. I have not been the only headstrong 
young fool who sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. 

^ We settled it all before we parted. The long vacation was 
approaching, and, contrary to Mr. Fleming's wishes, I had 
accepted an invitation to stay with Stewart Morton; his people 
lived at Norwood. Aline was going back to Holloway. Noth- 
ing could be easier than to procure a license and marry her 
in the old church in Holloway Road. Her brother was a 
Dissenter^ and so was Nathaniel Jennings. 

V We parted from each other very tenderly; I believed, that 
day at least, that I was ready to lay down my life for Aline 
Barton. I took Stewart Morton into my confidence; he 
seemed a little alarmed at the notion of a marriage. 

‘ " It will hinder your prospects in life," he said ; is there 
no way out of this ?" 

^ I almost quarrelled with him at last ; he wanted to teach 
me a little bit of worldly philosophy. He did not believe in 
women; in his opinion, flirtation was a venial sin. If I had 
listened to Him ' — and here his face darkened — ^ but I could 
not unlearn the lessons of a life. I silenced him at last by 
telling him roughly that I chose to be a fool rather than a 
knave; no woman should ever rue the day she saw me; that 
I was madly in love with Aline, and that I meant to make 
her my wife. 

*He was a little sulky at first; but finally promised to see 
me through it, as he called it, and I accompanied him to Nor- 
wood. I only saw Aline two or three times before we “were 
married. We met on Sunday evenings in the old parish 
church, and had a stroll together afterward. She was very 
quiet and subdued, and very grateful to me for the sacrifice I 
was making, and each time I left her I was more in love than 
ever. 

^ Stewart did not see her until the day we were married, and 
then he vowed to me in the vestry that he had never seen a 
grander-looking bride; and certainly Aline looked her best 


218 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHUBST. 


that day. Her face was colorless, and as she stood at the 
altar, with downcast eyes, and her deep lashes sweeping her 
oheeks, she was more like a lovely statue than a woman. 
Once -only she raised her eyes to me with a frightened look; 
it was when I was promising to love and cherish her until 
death, I felt her hand tremble in mine then. I had taken 
lodgings at Highgate; through Stewart Morton^s influence I 
had secured a mastership there. Aline was not quite penni- 
less; she had two or three hundred pounds. It was not until 
the day after my marriage that I wrota to Mr, Fleming. It 
was rather an ofi-hand letter; I was too proud to show feel- 
ing. I had no reply from him; but one day, when I returned 
from my morning’s work, I found him sitting with Aline. 

^ The’ sight of him took my breath away; for a minute I 
could not speak. He had been ill — he looked thin and worn; 
but he stretched out his hand to me with his old kind smile. 

^ So you could not trust me, Basil ? ” he said, as Aline put 
down her sewing and went quietly out of the room.” 

^I could make him no answer; for the flrst time the con- 
sciousness of my own base ingratitude to this generous bene- 
factor filled me with shame and remorse. How had 1 repaid 
this dearest friend of mine for all his loving sacrifice ? By 
disappointing all his hopes of me; by flinging up my pros- 
pects in life, and uniting myself to a woman w’hom a few 
short weeks of matrimony had convinced me could never be 
my equal or companion I I stood before him confused and 
•guilty— -a prodigal weary already of his husks, yet for whom 
there could be no consolation. 


^ My poor boy ! we must make the best of it,” he said 
presently; when, crushed and humiliated by his goodness, my 



you, she will soon teach herself to become worthy of her hus- 
band.” 

^ He stayed with us some time, and shared ^our mid-day 
meal with us. I remember how patiently and gently he tried 
to win Aline’s confidence; but she was in one of her strange 
moods, and seemed to^ have taken a dislike to him. She had 
already developed a singular jealousy of my friends. When 
I remonstrated with her after he had left, she said sullenly : 

^ George is every bit as good and forgiving as Mr. Flem- 
ing, but you never ask him to take a meal in the place. You 
hate to have anything to do with him, because he is not one 
of your fine gentlemen I ” 

‘This had been our first matrimonial dispute. Mr. Barton 


THE END OF A SUMMER IDYL. 


219 


had behaved to us with tolerable generosity. He had stormed 
a good deal at first, and had called Aline in my presence a 
sly, good-for-nothing girl; but he had relented at the sight of 
her tears. 

^ You have treated Jennings crueV^ he went on; ^^he is 
that cut up that he can’t mind his business, and all along of 
an ungrateful girl who could not keep her word to him. You 
have behaved as I never thought a girl could have behaved; 
but it is too late to cry over spilt milk now, and what is done 
can’t be altered. You have made your bed, and must just lie 
in it. I wanted to tie you up to a safe man; but you have 
chosen to fend for yourself.” 

^ " But you will forgive me, George ? ” sobbed Aline. 

hated to see her demean herself to such a fellow; why, 
he could not even speak his own language, and he was a little 
insignificant sandy-haired man. The very look of his glossy- 
black clothes turned me sick; how could he be Aline’s brother ? 
But they were evidently fond of each other. 

^ Come, come,” clapping her roughly on the back, don’t 
spoil your eyes with crying; least said soonest mended. We 
must make the best of a bad job. Bring your husband to 
have pot-luck with me on Sunday, Allie; and we will have a 
crack together.” 

‘ Oh, how I grew to loathe that little parlor behind the 
shop, and those Sunday dinners ! I put a stop to them at 
last. If you choose to have George here, well and good,” I 
said one. day; ^^but I am not going to Holloway every Sun- 
day; you may go by yourself;” and Aline sulked, and retali- 
ated by turning a cold shoulder to my friends. Before long 
I went of my own accord to Holloway. I must tell my story 
in my own way. I hate this part of my life so much I can 
hardly bear to speak of it. It was a drenching November 
evening. I stalked into the shop, looking, I suppose, a:, cheer- 
ful as the G host in ‘‘ Hamlet.” George who was adding up 
accounts in his little desk, turned pale when he saw me. 
‘^Come into the parlor,” he said; “Smith will mind the 
shop.” • I followed him in — I was benumbed with wet and 
cold; and he drew up a chair to the fire; “ Sit down and have 
a warm, Meming,” he said quite kindly, though we were not 
the best of friends. “Susan will bring up the tea-things in 
a minute; but there is something you want to tell me first ? ” 

^ “ Yes, George.” 

^ He rubbed his hands nervously together; his lips twitched. 

^ Y’’ou aren’t going to tell me that Allie lias broken out again ? ” 
.he said; “don’t tell me that, for heaven’s sake I” 


220 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST 


'I turned and looked at him sternly; he must have seen 
the loathing in my face, for he put his hand on my shoulder. 

' “ Don% old chap; keep it in! Allie is your vredded wife, 
you know. A man is bound to bear with his own flesh and 
blood.” 

“ If I had known it ”-^and here I turned on him so fiercely 
that he recoiled a step or two — I would have died sooner 
than marry your sister.” 

^ ^‘Ay, ay! to be sure you would,” he replied pityingly; 
^‘but Nat was not of your way of thinking; he was that fond 
of Allie that he would have taken her in spite of it.'^ That 
was why I wanted him to have her, because he knew all about 
it. If you had come to me and said, ^Barton, I am in love 
with your sister,^ I would have told j^ou the truth, and there 
would have been an end of it, and Allie would have stopped 
with me or married Nat Jennings.” 

^ George^ what am I to do ? I shall go mad if this goes 
cn; I have no control over Aline.” 

^ What are you to do ? that beats me, old fellow; ” and he 
sat down opposite to me and shook his head disconsolately. 
^^She has I on a handful to me, that poor girl has; but for 
all that, I never wanted to get rid of her. She is all I have 
belonging to me; for I never mean to have chick nor child 
of my own. Somehow I have always turned against thoughts 
of matriomony since my cousin Jenny died. Allie has been 
like my own child, somehow; for there is twelve years be- 
tween us; and I couldn^t blame her as J should have done, 
when I remembered mother.” 

^ I looked at him aghast. 

^ Do you mean ? ” 

^He nodded. Yes, mother and father too; but mother 
was the worst; she died of it at last. I always thought father 
took to it just out of misery at her goings on. Jenny lived 
with us then, and folks thought we should have married each 
other, only she caught malignant small- pox nursing a little 
servant who was taken ill, and 'that carried her ofl.” 

^ George, how old was Aline v/hen you first saw signs oi 
this fearful habit ? ” 

^ Well, it might have been a matter of two years or so 
now. I thought I should have broken my heart that night 
when I found it out — such a bonnie lass as she was, anJ. sc 
good-humored and kind when the madness was not on her. 
Look here, Fleming, I canT stand seeing her own husband 
turn against Allie. When she was at her worst, and had g"*t, 
to the drinki I w’as never hard to her. How could she heln 


ALINK 221 

it, poor girl, when it was in her blood ? It was just a mad- 
ness, and she knew it herself. 

‘ ^ George,^ she would say in one of her penitent moods, 

‘ it comes over me just like madness. I seem to have no 
power to fight against it. Sometimes I pray about it, but it 
always masters me in the end. I hate myself for it; I want 
to be good, and to have people love me. Perhaps if I go 

ftway somewhere Why don^t you lock me up, and save 

me in spite of myself ? ^ Poor Allie! she would be good for a 
long time after one of these breaks out — that is why I wanted 
Nat Jennings to be her husband, because he would have had 
more patience with herJ^ * 


CHAPTER XXI\ 

ALINE. 

fi* Yet, if I seem to speak of grief, 

’Tis scarce worth wonder. I have known 
Ciarge losses, dealt in moments brief, 

Hide harvests ere their autumn strown. 

Philip Stanhopj: Hartley. 

♦ My career has been one of difficulties, and doubts, and errors.* 

' Guy Mannering.' 

At this point Basil’s voice suddenly dropped, as though he 
were weary. He rose and began pacing up and down the 
narrow point, as though he could no longer control his rest- 
lessness. I watched him without speaking. How I longed 
to stretch out- my liand to him, to bid him be comforted. 

Do not lose hope. You are one of ns; you are no longer 
alone in your wretchedness — ^you have a mother.’ 

Oh, if I might only say that to him ! But he must tell me 
all first. My poor boy! So this was his dreary fate — to be 
linked for life to this woman What bitter news for Virginia ! 
What perplexity for all of hs! The moon was rising now, 
and the pale silvery beams began to play over the water; the 
air was soft and balmy, and the only sound that reached our 
ear was the faint ripple of the waves on the sand. Basil sud- 
denly came up to me 

^ Are you cold or tired ? ’ he asked abruptly. ^ Miss Leigh 
told me to take care of you. Would you like to go in now, 
and let me finish this miserable story to-morrow ? ’ 


222 THE SEARCH FOR BAmt LYNDHURST. 


* I could not sleep until I had heard all you have to tell me. 
Sit down, my — Mr. Fleming. Do you think my heart is not 
full of pity for all you have suffered ? Do you think I do not 
understand ? ^ 

‘ It was my own fault,’ he returned huskily. ‘ I deserved 
to be punished, but at times it has seemed to me as though 
the punishment were greater than the sin. I was so young, 
so horribly young and inexperienced, and — and I thought 1 
loved her.’ 

^ Did you not ? ’ 

do not know — perhaps; but my love, such as it was, died 
a natural death very soon after our marriage. Aline had not 
been my wife three months before I discovered her fatal 
habit.. I had thought her strange once or twice — a little ex- 
cited in her manner; but that night — shall I ever forget it ? ’ 
— ^with a shiver. ‘ I had been spending the evening with 
Stewart, and had come home late. As I walked up Highgate 
Hill in the starlight, I thought rather tenderly of my wife. 
I had not seen her since the morning, and she had seemed a 
little depressed then,. 

^ I do not like you to be out so much, Basil,” she had said 
to me. There are times when I am afraid of being left to 
myself. If I had said that to Geqrge, he would have given 
up any pleasure to stop with me.” 

^ I disliked this, allusion to her brother, and answered her 
rather coldly : 

* “ George Barton and I are very different men. I am sorry 
you feel dull. Aline, but I cannot break my engagement with 
Stewart.” 

^ That is what you always say,” she returned rather sul- 
lenly. ^ You care for Mr; Morton more than you do for me; 
and yet I am your wedded wife. I am not clever and amus- 
ing like jour other friends, and so you get tired of me.” 

^ I wish you would not talk such nonsense, you silly child ! ” 
I replied, trying to laugh off this. 

‘ But Aline was not to be soothed. She did not return m.y 
kiss as usual, and though she followed me to the door she 
had no parting smile or word for me. I thought privately 
that she was in a bad humor. Her absurd jealousy of my 
Oxford friends already tried me a good deal. 

^ I always let myself in with a latch-key. It was long past 
midnight, and I was surprised to see a light burning in the 
parlor. How foolish of Aline to. be sitting up for me! I 
thought; and yet the little attention pleased me. I went in 
with a smile on my lips. What a sight met my eyes! The 


ALINE, 


223 


fire was out, one guttering candle was on the table; the 
other had burnt itself out. Aline was lying half aeross th^ 
table, with her flushed face pillowed on her arms. Could she 
be asleep — ill ? What did that strange spirituous smell mean ? 

* As I stood on the threshold unable to realize the true 
meaning of the case, she opened her eyes, and with a stupid, 
vacant stare came unsteadily across the floor to me. Good 
heavens! I believe that sight nearly drove me mad in my 
horror. I pushed her from me with a curse, and she fell 
heavily to the floor.^^ 

‘You hurt her, Basil 

‘ Nothing hurt her that night. She only grovelled at my 
feet, and begged me not to be angry, but I was almost beside 
myself. I dragged her up, and made her go up to her room, 
but I had to carry her at last. I saw her throw herself upon 
her bed, and locked her in, and went downstairs. I spent 
the remainder of the night walking up and down like a caged 
thing. How was I to bear my life beside her ? Miss Sef ton, 
I believe only one thing kept me from blowing out my brains 
in the cold ‘gray morning, and that was the thought of my 
adopted father. How could I bring this grief on him ? No, 
I deserved punishment. I must bear the hideous fate I had 
brought on myself. I must bear with the woman I had made 
my wife. Yes, it was the thought of that true gentleman, 
Robert Fleming — his tender love, his stainless life — that 
shielded me in that awful hour, and brought me to my knees 
sobbing like a child. 

‘ I left the house the next morning without seeing Aline. 
I had my school duties to perform When our little maid 
brought in my breakfast, I told her to look after her mistress. 
“ 1 am afraid she is ill,^’ I stammered. 

‘ When the time for my return approached, a feeling of 
disgust and sickness oppressed me. As I drew near the house 
my pace slackened. How was I to confront Aline ? She did 
not come to meet me as usual. I had not expected it. The 
little parlor was in its usual order, the fire burnt brightly. 
A shaded lamp was bn the table. The kettle was hissing and 
bubbling on its brass trivet. The tea-things were arranged; 
A little bouquet of chrysanthemums and brown leaves lay be- 
side my plate. An appetizing smell of hot cakes came from 
the kitchen. For one moment I felt as though the hideous 
spectacle of last night were a dream. Then Aline entered. 

‘ She came up slowly to the table, and stood leaning on it 
with one hand. She looked very white and ill, and her eyes 
were swollen with weeping. 


224 THB SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

‘ “ Basil ” she began, and then stopped as tfiohgh a^ij 

to say more. 

What have you to say to me ? I ashed sternly; for even 
her grief “Stricken aspect did not soften me in the least. 

^ I have to ask your pardon/' and then, bursting into wild 
weeping, she sank on the floor before me. “ Oh, Basil, Basil, 
don't be so hard with me! I have tried; indeed, I have tried; 
but the temptation was too strong, and you left me alone. 
Oh, I would rather you killed me than look at me like that, 
as though you loathed the sight of me! It is not my fault^ — 
ask George. George knows, and he is always so good to me. 
Oh, why did I ever leave him ? — why did you make me care 
for you ? I ought not to have let you marry me, but I was 
so afraid that George would force me to have Nat Jennings." 

^ Aline, will you get up and listen to me ? " 

^"No, not until you say you will forgive me. Basil, you 
are my husband. You must help me to overcome this dread- 
ful habit. I am young — I must get oyer it. I will — I must. 
I hate myself for doing it, but now and ,then the devil tempts 
me. Basil dear, only forgive me this once, and I will never 
offend you again." 

‘ What could I do ? She was my wife, and she looked so 
lovely, kneeling there with the tears rolling down her face. 
How could I help at last taking«her in my arms ? She was 
so very gentle arid humble that night. She listened to me as 
meekly as a child while I talked to her. I told her that, of 
dl sins, this was the most repellant to me — the one I judged 
most harshly. 

Other vices are bad enough," I said; but this degrades 
the whole moral sense. It drags a man down below the level 
of a beast. Aline, you have inflicted a f«*tal stab to my love. 
I can never think of you as I did yesterday. If this went on, 
I could not answer for the consequences." 

Would you grow to hate riie ?" she whispered, and a 
great sadness, almost a despairing look, came into her beauti- 
ful eyes, and then she covered my hands with kisses. “ Oh, 
Basil, do not hate me ! I love you so much, and I want to 
please you." 

‘ “ Then* you must promise me never to taste the accursed 
stuff again. Promise me now. Aline." 

‘ She gave me the promise gladly, and seemed as happy as 
a child when I kissed her; nothing could exceed her sweet- 
ness that night. She hung about me, and coaxed me all the 
evening. George eame to see us the next day, and on the 
following Mr, Fleming surprised us by a sscond visit, I said 


ALINE. 


225 


nothing to either of them. Aline, was on her best behavior. 
She was gracious — charming. She sent George away per- 
fectly satisfied. Steward called in the next week, and she 
made much of him, and asked him to come again. When he 
left, and I was chatting with him on the doorstep, ho said to 
me: 

^ I begin to think you are a lucky feUow, Fleming ! That 
wife of yours grows handsomer .every time I see her.'^ 

* K month or two passed in tolerable tranquillity. I never 
left Aline now. I spent the evenings reading to her. On 
half-holidays, when I was free, I took her for a walk. I had 
reason to be more than usually considerate; we hoped in the 
early summer that Aline would become a mother. Her health 
was little a delicate just now; she was liable to fits of depres- 
sion, and I did not find it always easy to cheer her. Once or 
twice, as the winter went on, I had a vague suspicion that 
things were not quite right, but I was not sure. Ono night 
I was detained at school, helping the head-master with some 
accounts. I had begged Aline to go to bed early, and she 
had promised to do so. The house was quite dark, as I let 
myself in, and I went softly upstairs. As 1 entered our room, 
my heart died within me. Aline was stretched on the bed 
fully dressed. There . was no need to ask this time if she 
were ill. I did not disturb her; cold as a stone, and with a 
sense of despair that seemed to crush the youth out of me, I 
went downstairs, and, rekindling the smouldering embers, 
threw myself down on the hearthrug, and lay until morning. 

‘ The next evening there were tears and reproaches again. 
Aline was so ill with her penitence that I grew frightened at 
last. I must be more careful with her; but I was losing 
heart now. On the third relapse, I went to George; I have 
told you how he comforted me. 

* The summer came, and Reggie was born; and for a few 
months love for her child, and gratitude for my attentions, 
kept Aline straight; but by-and-by the old madness broke out 
again. Alas ! I knew now that it was madness— an hereditary 
taint was in her blood. We tried every means, George and 
I; we watched her, kept her amused, and for two or three 
months no one could be more reasonable. Then I would 
leave her some morning standing smiling at the door, with 
her boy in her arms, looking like the picture of some grand, 
pale Madonna, and in the evening she would meet me with 
the raised look of a sleep-walker in her eyes. 

^ How she ever obtained the drugs that were destroying her 
we never knew; but stories of tho lady at Myrtle Cottage be- 
15 


226 TJr-B! SBARCJT FOB B Am TYNDHUmT. 

gun to be rife in the neighborhood. "WTien things got worse, 
I was obli^red to resign my nost; the place had grown too hot 
for us.^ 

^But STirely you let Mr. Fleming know of your trouble 

He shook his head. 

^No, I never could bring myself to tell him; and after a 
time he discontinued his visits. Aline had taken a strong 
dislike to him— she was always susceptible to these strange 
jealousies, At last I begged him not to come. 

We are better apart just* now/' I said; ^^.it is not pleasant 
for me to see my friends ignored by my wife, and I cannot 
bear to see you treated as Aline treats you; " ’and he acquiesc’ed 
sorrowfully. 

/I was glad when he kept away; I could not bear that he 
should- see my degradation. He used to send me money 
sometimes, but I always returned it. I would write to him 
now and then, and tell him about Keggie — his beauty, his 
cleverness, his winning little ways; but I said little about my 
v/ife. After a time my letters grew fewer. I told him that 
for the present we were living with Mr. Barton; but I gave 
him no reason for the change. He wrote back and implored 
.me to tell him more — ^to come and see him — to let him assist 
me; but my answer was curt, and I fear ungracious, and after 
that he let me alone; ^ 

^ Since I have been at St. Croix, I have written and told 
him everything. When I go back to England I mean to take. 
Eeggie to see him.' 

‘ That is right/ I murmured. 

^ Yes, better late than never; poor old man! he is terribly 
cut up about it all. 

^ Well, it was after our baby-girl died that George made us 
come and live with him. I could not get another mastership, 
and was only earning a scanty maintenance by writing articles 
and reviewing books. Aline's few hundred pounds had long 
gone. 

^George represented to us that he was not a rich man; the 
shop at Holloway was all he had. 

^ Allie is the only creature I have belonging to me in the 
world/' he said; ^^and I can't see her pinched while lam* 
alive. If you .an piit up with a humble place, Fleming, you 
are welcome to what I have. Allie and the boy will be safe 
with me; and you will have a roof to call your own while you 
are looking out for work." 

^ Things were at such a low ebb with us just then that I 
^ could not well refuse George. My atfection for Aline was a 


ALINE. 


227 


thing of the past now, and all my love was centred upon 
Eeggie. From babyhood he had been constantly with me; 
even before he could speak he would hold out his arms, and 
cry to come to me. He soon made it evident that, he pre- 
ferred my society to his mother’s. Sometimes I had to take 
him out of his crib, and, wrapping him up in an old shawl, 
carry him downstairs. Nothing else would satisfy him, and 
he would lie contentedly in my arms while I read or wrote 
until he fell asleep. I never could quite understand Aline’s 
feelings v,rith regard to the child. Sometimes she appeared 
indifferent to him. Now and then in her irritable moods she 
seemed as though she could not endure the sight of him. I 
believe that after a time she grew jealous of my fondness for 
him, and never willingly caressed him in my presence; but 
more than once, when she thought herself alone, I have seen 
her snatch him up, and cover him with kisses, while he 
struggled to get away from her. 

‘ Mother kisses Eeggie too hard/’ I heard him say once. 

' We had a very good nurse for him for two years. George’s 
thoughtfulness provided this comfort, for Aline could not 
be safely trusted with the care of her child. Eeggie was 
always happy with her, and until she died 

I interruped him. 

MVait one minute, please; I want to ask you a question. 
Did Eeggie call her mammy ? ^ 

‘Yes; how did you know that?’ he returned in surprise. 
‘ Eeggie was very fond of her, I think he cared for her far 
more than for his own mother, and it was a great loss to us 
when she died, aiid George told us that he could not afford 
another nurse. I was never happy then if Eeggie were out 
of my sight. 

‘It cost me a bitter struggle before I could make up my 
mind to go and live at Holloway; but I could not let Aline 
and Eeggie starve. The thought of the little parlor behind 
the shop gave me a sick feeling. There was a room upstairs 
Avith two windows looking down on Holloway Eo^d, which 
was given up to Aline; but all the meals were taken in*the 
parlor. Eebecca, the elderly maid-of -all-work who had lived 
with George for the last fifteen years — ^a red-haired, large- 
boned woman — ^would lay the table in her usual noisy fashion: 
the willow-pattern plates, the big clumsy knives, were repug- 
nant to me. Eebecca’s turned-up sleeves, her dirty apron, 
her rough, uncouth ways, were all separate sources of offence; 
but I learnt to be grateful even to Eebecca, when I saw how 
wisely and kindly she dealt with Aline in her attacks. She 


228 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 


had a man^s strength, and would carry her in her arms like a 
child. 

^ You may leave her to Becky,” George would say. Becky 
understands Allie perfectly.” 

^My surroundings were intolerable to me. I had been 
used to Mr. Fleming’s refined and culkired conversation, and 
my year at Exeter had still more unfitted me for the society 
of a man like George Barton. After a time I could not en- 
dure my life, and I was obliged at last to find a retreat where 
I could read and write quietly without distraction. 

^ In my w’alks about Highgate I had discovered a little 
cottage where a worthy old couple lived, with whom Keggie 
and I made friends. In return for a trifling weekly sum they 
agreed to allow me the use of an empty room. I sent in a 
few articles of furniture, laid up a little store of wood and 
coal in an outhouse, and every morning, as soon as George 
and I had finished our early breakfast — Aline never appeared 
until long afterwards — I dressed Reggie, and we set off for 
Laurel Cottage. Y/e spent the whole day there. On my way 
I purchased provisions for our mid-day meal; sometimes 
ready-dressed from a cook’s shop, or else I broiled our chops 
or steak on an old gridiron Mrs. Jones lent us. 

^Reggie played about happily while I wrote my articles and 
reviews. When he was tired he would clamber up on my 
knee and sit quietly, turning over his picture book. He quite 
understood that I must not be disturbed. Sometimes his 
head would drop against my shoulder and his eyes close. I 
would let him stay until my arm got cramped, and then lay 
him down on a rug at my feet, where he v/ould sleep for an 
hour or two. He never gave me any trouble, but always 
seemed perfectly happy and contented. A few bricks, a 
Noah’s ark, and a little cart were his only playthings; but 
when it was warm enough ho would be running about the 
little garden lialf the day, building a grotto with some oyster- 
shells, or digging beside old Jones, and making believe to 
help him. Dear little chap, he was just the sunshine of my 
life! I do think Aline was right when she said once that he 
was more my child than hers. 

^ Sometimes when I played with him, or hunted butterflies, 
or picked flowers in the lanes, I forgot all about Holloway; 
but it was always the worst hour in the twenty-four when I 
went back to it. When the evenings were cold I wrapped 
Reggie in an old rug and carried him all the way home. He 
used to burrow in it like a rabbit; and I could just see his 
bright eyes peeping out of the folds. He never came to 


ALIXm 229 

any harm; I think the free life suited him as well as ifc 
did me. 

' George would look up and nod a welcome to us as we 
passed through the shop; but Aline generally received us 
rather sulkily : 

^^^So you" have come back,” she would say; "I suppose 
Eeggie wants his tea; ” but she never seemed to take any 
pleasure in waiting on him. Oftener than not, Eebecca would 
put him to bed. Aline was not always disposed to leave the 
warm parlor and the fireside. George would be coming in 
for his tea,” she would observe, and he liked to see her there. 
It was always George — never me or the boy. I used to think 
at last she did not care for either of us, and yet she was the 
mother of my Eeggie ! 

* I could not spend the evening, with George coming in and 
out, talking to Aline as she sat at her work; the tingling of 
the shop-bell and the footsteps of the customers iri\cated me 
too much. Besides, Aline and I had little to say to each 
other. I used to wait until Eeggie was in bed, and go up and 
say good-night to him, and then go out and prowl about the 
streets for hours. It was strange, lonely work, but I liked it 
somehow. I saw plenty of life, only it was of the humbler 
sort. Sometimes, when the mood was on me, I would walk 
into London. I never returned until late. Aline was always 
in bed, but George would be sitting by the fire smoking and 
reading his newspaper. The remains of the frugal supper 
would be still on the table. 

^'^Help yourself, old fellow,” he would say. "Allie has 
gone to bed, and I am just finishing my last pipe. Becky has 
gone up, too, but I will go down to the cellar and draw you 
another mug of ale, if you want it.” 

^ Poor old George ! he was always the same — good-humored 
and cheery; and ready at any moment for a jaw,” as he 
called it, but I would not often be drawn into an argument. 
He was, like all Dissenters of his class and standing, narrow- 
minded and intolerant and full of prejudices. I used tcv 
compare him sometimes in my own mind to Mr. Fleming, or 
even to Stewart Morton, and wondered what Stewart would 
have said to him. 

^ I am afraid I treated him very badly, but he bore all my 
snubs with the same cheery good-humor. I think his one 
fear was that I should break away from Aline altogether. He 
had a sort of pride in his own way, and as long as he could 
keep the peace between us, and things were outwardly smooth, 
he seemed satisfied, I am sure in his own heart he was sorry 


280 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 

for me. He never objected to my long absences^ and always 
explained them in his own fashion. I heard him talking 
once to his friend Jennings. I suppose the latter had been 
somewhat inquisitive. 

* "Ho, he doesn't work here. You see, with the customers 
coming and going, there is no sort of quiet. He has a room 
a little way out where he writes; it is like a gent going to 
his office." 

^ " But he is out all the evening, too. I wonder Allie likes 
it ! " replied J ennings, who still took an interest in his former 
sweetheart. 

could have flung him out of the shop as I heard him, 
but George did not seem the least embarrassed by this cross- 
examination. 

Well, you see. Hat, Allie is a sensible lass, for all her 
failings, as is known between you and me. She knows the 
lad is a good bit tried with her goings on, and wants exercise 
after his waiting. He is a rare walker, is Fleming." 

Humph!" was all Jennings's reply. 

‘1 wonder if George's explanation satisfled him; no doubt 
he thought I neglected Aline shamefully. I was in a bad 
temper that evening, and when George came into the parlor I 
said a contemptuous word about Jennings. 

* "It strikes me as rather bad taste that he should always 
be coming round after what has passed between him and 
Aline," I said; for a man is always touchy about his wife, and 
though I did not love Aline, I would not allow any old sweet- . 
hearts to come after her. 

‘To my surprise, George brightened up at my brusque 
speech. 

‘ " I don't mind your saying that a bit, Fleming," he re- 
turned " it shows you have some sort of feeling for poor Allie. 
Bless your heart! Allie is barely civil to him; she never holds 
her head higher than when Hat is here, so there is no call for 
you to be jealous. With all her faults, she knows her duty 
too well for that." 

‘ " Oh, don't trouble yourself," I answered coldly. " I am 
not the least jealous of Hat Jennings or of any other man." 

‘ " Of course not," he replied briskly. "You are quite right 
there, my lad, for Aline never looked at any man but you — • 
not in the way of loving him, I mean. As for Hat — poor 
old beggar! — I "am precious sorry for him; he can't get over 
the loss of Allie. But there, it was not to be, and Allie is 
safe with me; " and with a sigh he went olf to shut up the 
shop. 


ALIJSfR 281 

^Now — would you believe ifc? — I was such a fool that I 
must needs go upstairs and hector Aline on the subject. 

^ ^^Nat Jennings comes here too often/^ I said to her. 
have just told George so. I hate a fellow to come sneaking 
round where he is not wanted.^’ 

^ "There is no reason for calling him names, or speaking to 
George, either; and you will wake Eeggie if you talk so 
loud/^ was her only reply, and I dropped my voice at once. 

‘ " All the same. Aline, I tell you I will not have the fellow 
round here so often. 

^ " You must tell George thaV’ she returned, with a* dignity 
that somehow became her. " It is not my affair, nor yours 
either— Nat is his friend.’^ 

^ " But he used to be yours,’^ I retorted sulkily; " what is 
the use of denying it ? 

‘ Aline flushed. " What has come over you to-night, Basil ? 
What does it matter to you if any one looks at me or not ? I 
thought, that sort of thing did not interest you much now. 
It is quite true I took up with Nat once to please George; 
but I never could fancy him, as I told you. It is not likely I 
should trouble my head about him now, when I have married 
another man.^^ 

‘ But I was not quite moilifled. " That is all very well as 
far as it goes; but you see. Aline, he may trouble his head 
about you, and I could not put up with that for a moment. 

‘ She looked at me rather oddly, and the old wistful, tender 
look came into her eyes. " Thank you, Basil, for caring about 
it so; but there is no need;^^ and she turned away. I was 
half tempted ,to follow her and give her a kiss, for she had 
answered me gently, and looked like the old Aline; but she 
left the room. I think things might have been a little better 
after that, only a few days afterwards Aline had one of her 
breaks-out, sCnd then everything was wrong again. My lit- 
erary work had brought me in a little money, and this sum- 
mer I determined to give myself a holiday. I told Aline that 
I was going to take Beggie abroad. As usual, she made no 
objection, and though George looked grave and shook his 
head at the notion, I refused to listen to him for a moment. 
" I must have thorough change of scene,” I observed irritably; 
" for the last month or two I have felt nearly mad. Aline 
will be quite happy with you ; she will not miss the boy, and I 
must take him. I could not go without Eeggie.” 

^ " It is not my place to find fault with you, lad,” he said- 
sadly. "Yes, you may leave Allie v/ith me; but you are 
wrong about her not missing the child.” 


232 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 


^ Why, do you mean she really cares so much for Reggie ? 

^ Well, she is the little chap’s mother, isn’t she ? with a 
rough sort of pathos. I tell you what, Fleming : you don’t 
understand Allie as well as I do; she isn’t without her con- 
science; she knows what a burthen she is to you, and she tries 
to make up to you by sparing Reggie. Why, when you are 
gone she will just cry her eyes out, and then fly to the drugs 
for comfort; that is what she always does when she is un- 
happy. I see you don’t believe me, lad; but it is my opin- 
ion, and Becky’s too, that she is as fond of you both as possi- 
ble. I have seen her watching you when you and the little 
chap were hugging each other, with her eyes quite full of 
tears;” but I would not- believe him. Aline showed no 
special feeling when we took leave of her. Her eyes were 
quite dry when she packed Reggie’s things, and when I put 
him in her arms, and he kissed and stroked her face in his 
pretty way, she gave him back to me as quietly as possible. 

^ There ! I have told you all. I have kept nothing back. 
Miss Sefton. I am only six-and-twenty, and yet my fate has 
been such that I have grown weary of my life. • 0 God ! when 

I think of what I might have been, and what I ain ’ and 

with a groan he was about to spring to his feet; but I laid 
my hand on his arm. 

I Basil,’ I said, ^do not go yet; it is my turn now/ 


CHAPTER XXV. 

^YOU ARE BASIL LYKDHURSt!^ 

* Let us not burden our remembrances 
With a heaviness that’s gone.’ 

‘ Tempest' 

• Courage and comfort I All shall yet go well.’ 

‘ King John, 

1 had spoken in a somewhat agitated tone, and Basil seemed 
perplexed at my manner. '^Miss Leigh is right,’ he said 
anxiously; ^and you are very tired. I can feel that you ar^ 
trembling all over. Why did you let me talk so long ? it 
must be nearly nine o’clock. Look how bright the moonlight 
isl indeed I cannot allow you to sit any longer.’ 


'YOU ARE BASIL LYNDHURSTr 233 

He spoke with such gentle insistence that I could not re- 
fuse to rise; but I still detained him. 

^ I cannot go back yet. Olga will be there, and I must 
speak to you alone. If I am tired I do not know it; I am 
thinking of other things. I have heard it all now. My poor 
boy, how you have suffered ! And then your wife ! It is all 
so sad — and to know it is for life.^ 

^ Yes, it is for life,' he answered gloomily. 

^ Oh, my dear, do not speak in that tone! You have great 
troubles but there may be consolations.' 

^You are very good to try and comfort me,' he replied 
quietly. ^It is your kind heart and your sympathy that 

p-’ompt you to speak of comfort; but while Aline lives ' 

He stopped abruptly. 

^ Do not let us speak of her — not just yet — you have your 
cross; but there may be blessings in store for you. Basil, I 
want to tell you something, only I am afraid of startling you. 
What if I have found out something about your past life that 
you do not know yourself — about your father and ' 

^ My father!' he exclaimed before I could finish my sen- 
tence — ^ my father, who cared so little about me that he gave 
me up to a stranger ! ' And then he added bitterly : ^ Mr. 
Fleming is the only father I ever knew.' 

My heart sank when I heard him speak in that tone; his 
mother had forsaken him too ! I trembled as I thought of 
Virginia. For a moment I hardly knew what to say, and all 
the time he was looking at me so keenly. 

^ Do you mean that you knew my father ? ' he asked pres- 
ently. 

^ Yes, I knew him. He made the life of one very dear to 
me so wretched that death would have been a relief; but he 
is dead now. We must not judge those who are gone. But 
for your broken-hearted mother ' 

^ She is dead too,' he returued quickly; ^ she died when I 
was a baby. Mr. Fleming told me so.' 

Some one had lied to him, then. 

^ Basil, your mother is not dead ! All these years she has 
been seeking her son ! ' 

In the clear, white light I saw his face change; he started 
violently. 

1 1 do not understand you. Why do you say such strange 
things to me? My mother! — I have no mother! You are 
making some mistake.' 

^ I am making ^no mistake,' I repeated calmly. ^All these 
weeks you have interested me; but to-day I have found out 


234 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST 


the reason. To-morrow you must come with me to the ceme- 
tery at St. Croix, and we will stand together at your father’s 
grave, and I will tell you then about your mother.’ 

^ Yo'i must tell me now,’ he returned, and his tone betrayed 
strong emotion. ^ You have said too much and too little. If 
you knew my parents— and something in your manner assures 
me that you are speaking the truth — you must know their 
name and mine. Who am I, then ? ’ 

I took his hands, and held them as I answered him. 

^ You are Basil Lyndhurst!’ I said. ‘You are the son of 
my only sister, the grandson and heir of my father, Ralph 
Sefton 1 ’ 

He clutched my hands’ so tightly that I winced with the 
pain. ‘ Good God ! ’ was all he could say for the moment. I 
could see it was impossible for him to realize it. 

‘You are my nephew, Basil.’ 

‘Am I ? ’ and then he drew his hands away, and walked to 
the end of the point. 

I think his emotion was so great that he could not speak 
to me. Hj stood quite still and motionless for a few min- 
utes, with his arms folded across his chest and his head bent. 
Then he came back to me, and, even in that light, I could 
see the excited look in his eyes. 

‘I want the proofs; you must tell me all — everything! 
There must be nothing kept back from me, not one word, if 
this be true!’ and his chest heaved; it was difficult for hixn 
to restrain himself to speak calmly. 

‘It is true; but I cannot tell you all to-night. I am grow- 
ing weary — I must confess it now — tho strain has been too 
great. Basil, it is a great thing that I have told you. I do 
not think you have realized it^ — that you are your grand- 
father’s heir, and the master of Brookfield Hall.’ 

‘You said something like that before,’ he returned un- 
easily. ‘ No, I do not realize it; I feel as though I v/ere dream- 
ing, Miss Sefton.’ 

‘ You must call me Aunt Catherine. Basil, my dear, 'jou 
are one of us — you are my boy now.’ 

Then he broke down utterly. 

‘ Oh,’ he said, when he had recovered himself a little, and 
we were walking slowly up the common, ‘ it is •tho thought 
that I have someone belonging to me that unmans me so. 
To think that it is you — you who have saved my boy’s life — 
who now claim me as a nephew; that I )iave a mother who 
has been thinking of me all these years — it is too much I too 
much ! ’ 


^YOTT ARE BASIL LYJYBEURST!' 285 

^And your home Basil — the beautiful home you have never 
seen ? ^ 

^ I cannot take it in to-night/ he returned in a bewildered 
tone. ^ It is your house, is it not. Aunt Catherine ? ^ 

He hesitated shyly over the last words but I felt such a 
thrill of pride as I heard him say it. 

^ No; it is yours,’ I answered quietly; ^ but your grandfather 
stipulated that it should be your mother’s home for life, and 
mine, if we wished it. But it is a great house, Basil ! There 
is one wing that has always gone by the name of the Power 
House.’ 

^ What do you mean ? ’ he returned quickly. ^ Is it possible 
that you think ? — but I will not discuss that to-night. Why 
do you hint at such things when my brain is almost reeling ? 
You do not know what it is to me to feel that there is such 
a home for Eeggie in the future; that the shop at Holloway 
will be a nightmare of the past ! Do you mean ’ — and here 
his voic6 shook again — ‘ that that is all over forever, and that 
I am not to ga home night after night to see George smoking 
in his shirt-sleeves ? Oh, good heavens ! when I think of my 
life there ! And you talk to me as though I were going to 
turn you out of your home; and I am to believe you and not 
think it is all a dream ! ’ 

He was so agitated that I had some trouble to quiet him. 
He complained at last that I told him so little about his 
mother. I had some difficulty in evading his questions. 

^ It is so late and I am tired out, Basil. To-morrow we will 
have a long talk. If I began about Virginia I should not end 
until midnight; but I will tell you as much as this — she is a 
great invalid. All her youth and strength has been crushed 
out of her; her life has been an unhappy one; her troubles 
have affected her nerves ; she is old and weak and needs a 
son’s tenderness.’ 

^She shall have it,’ he answered;, and I could see his eyes 
were glistening, and then neither of us said more until we 
reached La Maisonnette. 

He seemed as though he meant to Jeave me — perhaps he 
thought I was too weary; but I drew him in. 

^ I cannot part with you just yet, and you have not tasted 
food for hours, and Olga will be waiting to congratulate you.’ 

But he did not require pressing. 

^ I wanted to come in,’ he said simply. ^ I felt as though I 
must see Keggie. Ah! there is Miss Leigh; she has been 
watching for us.’ 


236 TH:B1 search for BA^IL LYIfDffURST. 


Olga was standiijg outside the glass door of the salle-^,- 
ananger. She looked at ns anxiously as we entered. 

‘Well, Aunt Catherine was all she said. 

I was about to answer to explain, when Basil put me aside 
quite unceremoniously, 

‘ Miss Leigh, ^ he said eagerly, ‘ she is my Aunt Catherine 
now.^ 

‘Yes, I know;’ and Olga held out her hand to him with 
one of her sweetest smiles. ‘You are Basil — the long-lost 
Basil; for whom they have been seeking all these years. Oh, 
I am so glad. And you and Reggie — dear little Reggie ! — 
will come to live at the Hall.’ 

I think those few simple words, said "so cordially, did more 
to convince Basil of the truth than all my explanations. The 
bewildered look left his face; he grew calmer. As he grasped 
her hand, he said quickly : 

‘You live at Brookfield, too ?’ 

‘Yes; I am so glad. And you will know Jem, and Hubert, 
and Kitty; and the children will play with Reggie. Fancy 
Reggie and Girlie-ga together. Aunt Catherine ! Oh, it is 
too delightful !’ 

I wondered what made Basil turn his hack suddenly and 
walk to the window. A minute afterwards he said he would 
go up to Reggie. Olga came and knelt down beside me 
directly we were left alone. 

‘Are you very glad, dear Aunt Catherine?’ she asked 
gently. I think nw answer must have satisfied her. ‘ And 
Basil — I suppose 1 must call him Mr. Lyndhurst now — he 
looks very pale.’ 

‘ It is with happiness. Oh, what a life he has had, poor hoy! 
Olga, I must tell you all about it some day. His wife ’ 

‘ Wliat of his wife ? ’ she asked quickly. 

‘ That is what I cannot tell you now. But she is unworthy 
of him; and she makes him very unhappy.’ 

‘There is all the more need for his mother to comfort him. 
I always knew he was unhappy — ^that is why I was so sorry 
for him. And he is poor, too; and I suppose his home is 
uncongenial to him. Poor Mr. Lyndhurst I But he will have 
you, Aunt Catherine. Oh, how proud he looked when he 
called you that ! ’ 

We talked a little more, for it was some time before Basil 
returned, and then we sat down to supper. I think Olga 
was the only one who spoke much. She was gay, vivacious, 
charming; our silence did not subdue her in the least. She 
insisted on giving Basil a full description of the Hall. I am 


^YOU ARE JIABIL LYNDHUmTn 


237 


sure she did it- on purpose, because she saw how strongly he 
was moved. She talked about the Lady's Walk, and related 
the Lady Gwendoline's story. She even mentioned the pea- 
cocks, which she said would be such a delight to Reggie. 

^ Reggie will have the old nursery, will he not. Aunt Cath- 
erine ? ' she said presently. ‘ It is papered so prettily, and has 
such a lovely view.' 

Once she called him Mr. Lyndhurst, and I saw Basil start 
and flush. 

‘ I do not know liiy new name yet/ he said, trying to laugh. 
^ I think I prefer Basil at present.' 

^Mr. Basil, then,' she said, smiling at him. ^ Your grand- 
father's name was Ralph; but he was not a bit like Ralph of 
the Iron-hand. Aunt Catherine, you ought to have been 
called Gwendoline; but, indeed, it would have suited Mrs. 
Lyndhurst best.' 

^Do you mean my mother ?' he asked, in a low voice. 

^Yes, but her name is Virginia. How strange that her 
husband was Paul ! ' and so she talked on. 

Basil seemed to listen in a sort of trance. How and then he 
put in a word, a suggestion, a question. As for me, I could 
not eat; I sat with my hands on my lap, thinking of Virginia 
and looking at her boy and mine. It was late before Basil 
went away; I wanted him to stay, but he said for this one 
night he would rather go back to the pavilion. He was too 
restless to sleep; he wanted to prowl about, to smoke in the 
moonlight. Ho house could hold him in such a mood, so I 
was obliged to let him go. 

^ But I may come in to breakfast, may I not ? ' he said, as 
he bade me good-night; ^and afterwards we will have that 
talk;' and then Olga and I stood at the door and watched him 
striding down tho path to the little gate. 

^Aunt Catherine, what will Jem say ? ' was Olga's last ques- 
tion* that night. 

I was worn out, but I could not sleep until daylight; the 
thought of the letter I had to write to Virginia, and of my 
impending talk with Basil, drove all drowsiness from my 
eyes. How was I to make him understand Virginia's timid 
and morbid nature ? Would he believe in tFe mother who, 
in her nervous panic, had abandoned her child ? I felt I had 
not yet surmounted all my difficulties; another thought kept 
me restless. Would it not ’be necessary to see Robert Flem- 
ing ? Did we not Owe him a full explanation ? Besides which, 
a verification of fads on his side would be satisfactory to us 
both. He must know the whole truth about his adopted son; 


238 THE JSEAr.CH FOR BASIL LYNLHURST. 


he must receive our thanks for those years of care and ten- 
derness. And as I remembered them, 1 felt that Basil, as the 
adopted son of Eobert Fleming, was dearer to me than eyer. 

Yes, it was this last thought — why should I deny it ?— that 
kept me wakeful. One day before long Robert Fleming and 
I would meet again — once more in this life, thank God ! I 
should look in his true face again; we who had once been 
lovers would grasp hands as friends. I dismissed these agi- 
tating reflections at last, and again the thon ^ht of BasiFs dark 
face glowing with happiness stole across my mind — my boy 
as well as Virginians! Our lonely days were over now. It 
was no -stranger whom I should present to her, but one whom 
I already loved, whom I was beginning to understand. - ^ He 
is already one of us,^ I said to myself, as the happy tears came 
to my eyes in the darkness; and as I remembered Reggie, 
my cup seemed full to overflowing. 

I dressed myself early the . next morning, and waited for 
Basil; I was impatient to see him again. When. I heard the 
click of the little gate I went out in the sunshine to meet him. 
I had expected a joyous greeting. To my surprise, his face 
had the same white shaken look it had worn when I first 
spoke to him; there was a haggardness about him, as though 
he had not slept. As I took his nand, it felt weak and nerve- 
less as a little child^s. 

^ Basil, my dear boy, are you ill ? ^ 

^ Ho,^ he returned in a low, vehement voice that increased 
my apprehension; ^but I have been thinking about it all 
night, and I am convinced it must be a mistake. You have 
told me nothing — there has been no proof, no certainty; it is 
this that tortures me — that I cannot bear. If it should be 
all a mistake ! ^ 

^It is no mistake, Basil, I am sure— quite sure— or I would 
not have told you. In an hour or two you shall hear every- 
thing.. Will you not trust me until then ? ^ 

My quiet voice seemed to soothe him; he spoke more 
calmly. 

^ I thought the night would never end. I felt as though I 
could not wait until morning. H it should not be true, and 
I must go back to that life, how could I endure it ? Would 
not everything be worse — more unbearable ? In the moon- 
light I was picturing it all as Miss Leigh described it. I 
seemed to see it in a dream — ^the old Hall, the Ghost Walk, 
the avenue, and the rooks cawing overhead. I could fancy 
Reggie running over the lawns— just fancy the little chap I 
carried in my old rug down Highgate Hill! — ^and then I 


^YOU ARE BASIL LYNBHURST!^ 239 

thoiiglife of my mother — and if it should not be true ! ^ and he 
set his teeth hard. 

‘ Basil/ 1 said gently, ^ it is true. You are distressing your- 
self to no purpose ; it is just a nervous fancy because you have 
not slept. I want you to do something for me — I want you 
to come in now and take your breakfast quietly. I do not 
wish Olga to see the state you are in; it would trouble her so 
much. I have ordered Jules to be round at ten o’clock, and 
we will drive down to the cemetery; and when we have found 
your father’s grave I will tell you all I know.’ 

I am sure my calmness gave him courage, for he made a 
strong effort to carry out my wishes; and though he could 
not eat, and spoke very little, Olga did not seem to perceive 
there was anything amiss. It did us both good to see her 
sitting there and looking so cheerful and serene; a sort of 
halo of youth and purity seemed to surround her; her large, 
clear eyes were beaming with kindliness. 

^ Mr, Basil,’ she said in her simple direct way, ^ I am sure 
Reggie is almost well now; he has been laughing and talking 
this morning, and he wants to be dressed immediately and to 
go down to the bay; for he says all the little fishes miss him.’ 

We tried to laugh at this little speech, but in spite of all 
Olga’s efforts the conversation flagged. I was glad when the 
meal was over, and Basil weiit up to his boy. He did not come 
down until the fiacre was at the gate. The driye was taken 
almost in silence, and it seemed long before we reached the 
cemetery. 

P^re Lefevre had given me implicit directions. Before 
many minutes had passed T conducted Basil to the spot. 
There was a little mound, with a black wooden cross at the 
head ; some kind soul had hung a wreath of yellow immor- 
telles on it. There was the name ^ Paul Lyndhurst,’ and ^ R. 
I. P.’-— that was all. Basil had become very ^uiet; he took 
my hand and led me to a little bench placed in a shady cor- 
ner; no one was in the cemetery; we had it to ourselves. 

^ Will you begin from the beginning ? ’ he said gravely ; and 
then, leaning his elbows on his knees, he composed himself 
to listen. 

It was a long story, but I managed to tell him everything; 
he only interrupted me once. 

‘ I will see Monsieur Lefevre myself — that will be best; the 
entry of my baptism must be found at St. Sulpice.’ 

This was all he said from the beginning to the end. 

My voice faltered a little when I first spoke of Virginia, 
^bu,t I suppressed nothing: he was a full-grown man; he must 


24U THE /SEARCH FOR RASIE LTHRHURST, 


know the whole truth. I disguised nothing — ^her panic, her 
wild flight, her anguished repentance. I tried to make him 
see it with my eyes; 1 drew a touching picture of her loneli- 
ness, her broken health, her wanderings in the Lady^s Walk, 
her nightly prayers for her son. 

^ Basil, she lives fir you,^ I finished; ^she has no other 
thought in life. But for .this hope of flnding you her frail 
existence must have ended long ago; it is for you to make up 
to her for these years of unutterable sorrow.^ 

He did not seem as though he heard me; his head was still 
buried in his hands; he did not move until my voice died 
away into silence— I had nothing more to say| then he started 
up and stretched his arms over his head. 

^ It is true, then ? Oh, Aunt Catherine! ^ ahd then he took 
my hand and kissed it. 

His face was very grave — almost stern; but I saw by his 
eyes that he doubted no longer. 

^ You acknowledge that you are Basil Lyndhurst, and the 
grandson of Ealph Sefton? ^ 

^ Yes; I am not such a fool as to disbelieve it any longer. 
I will see Monsieur Lefevre. Oh, if we could only And Lizet- 
te ! and then I must write to Mr. Fleming. Aunt Catherine, 
he must be the first to hear — -he comes before my mother.^ 

Ho spoke tjie last word in a hesitating way; his manner 
did not please me. 

‘ Oh, Basil ! not before your mother.’ 

^ Yes,’ he said, and a dark flush crossed his face — a flush of 
extreme pain; ^you must not think me hard if I say so; I 
have a strange nature ; I shall find it difficult to forget what 
you have t.ld me.’ I was silent; how was I to answer him ? 
The next minute I saw him look at me with great affection. 
^ Oh, if you were my mother I ’ he murmured, and his eyes 
were full of tears. 

^ Dear Basil, when you see her you will love her too.’ 

* I hope so,’ but there was no conviction in his tone. ‘ Last 
night I was thinking of her — oh, so tenderly ! I kept saying 
mother” to myself, just to hear how it sounded; but the 
feeling has got c^iilled somehow.’ 

^It will pass; believe me, it will pass; your mother is a 
good woman.’ 

^ She was very weak,’ he replied gravely. * Look here. Aunt 
Catherine, I have a little chap of my own ; I can put myself 
in her place: could I ever have left Eeggie?” 

^You are a man — you have a man’s strength; Virginia was 
a weak girl.’ 


^YOU ARE BASIL LYNBHURST!' 241 

^ Miss Leigh is a girl, too. Do you think But what am 

I saying ? There are not many like her.^ 

^Perhaps not: she is very good. But, Basil, sL3 is fond of 
your mother.^ 

^ Is she ? ^ and his face lighted up. ^ But, then, she likos 
everyone — that is just her goodness. Aunt Gather ine> please 
do not look so sad; of course I mean to be good to my mother; 
do you think I shall reproach her ? Only when I think of 
Keggie, and then of that poor little lonely chap in the garret, 
I somehow feel as though an impassable gulf separated me 
from my mother.^ 

His face had settled into sternness again; but how was I to 
reason with him ? 

‘And there is Aline,^ he continued after another silence; 
‘ what will my mother say to her ? ’ 

‘ She will be sorry, of course; but she will receive her kindly 
end make the best of her.’ 

T doubt if it will answer,’ he returned gloomily; ‘I cannot 
imagine Aline at the Hall. She will disturb your peace and 
my mother’s ; she is a strange being. She will not assimilate 
herself to your ways; perhaps if I go away ’ 

‘ Go away, and you are the master, Basil ! Do you know it 
all belongs to you ? All these years I have been nursing the 
estate, and saying to myself, “ It is for Basil,” and you would 
leave us to our loneliness ! ’ 

‘I do not wish to leave you,’ he replied tenderly; ‘it is of 
you I am thinking, not myself. I cannot bear to think that 
my wife may bring: trouble ! ’ 

‘We cannot help all that/ I answered quickly; ‘it is her 
right. We cannot rob her of her prerogative. Where you 
and the child are, Aline must be ! ’ 

I suppose so/ he replied in a troubled tone; ‘but she 
would be happier with George.^ 

‘ The house is large enough for all,’ was my answer. ‘ Do 
you remember what I told you last night, Basil ? There is a 
wing that has always been used as a dower-house. There is 
plenty of room there for Virginia and me. We shall not be 
in Aline’s way or yours.’ 

He made no reply ; but after a minute he rose and began 
to pace the walks. Presently he came back to me, his eyes 
kindling, his head held high. I saw then, for the first time, 
a likeness to his mother when she was a girl. 

‘ Basil/ I said eagerly, ‘ you have the Sefton mouth. You 
remind me of your mother and grandfather!’ 

He looked excessively pleased at that. 

16 


242 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST.X 


am trying to realize it all/ lie said simply; / yesterday I 
was no one; I did not even know my own name; I was in- 
debted to charity for a roof; to-day" — here his eyes flashed; 
^ he looked wonderfully handsome — ^ to-day I am Basil Lynd- 
hurst, master of Brookfield Hall; the descendant of a hun- 
dred brave ancestors — among them, Ealph of the Iron-hand; 
and the best of it all is," his voice changing as he spoke, ^ that 
it will all come to my little chap— to Eeggie! / 


CHAPTEK XXVI. 

LIZETTE DUPONT 

* Let our old acquaintance be renewed.* 

‘ Second Part of Henry IP./ 

‘She’s a good creature.’ 

‘ Merry Wives of Windsor! 

It was nearly one o^clock when we parted at the gate of the 
cemetery, for Basil had excused himself from accompanying 
me back to La Maisonnette. He would put me into a passing 
fiacre, he said; but there were many things that would detain 
him at St. Genette. It was absolutely necessary for him to 
seek an interview with Pere Lefevre. He wished to see an 
entry of his baptism at St. Sulpice. Inquiries must also be 
set on foot for the relatives of Lizette Dupont; he must take 
counsel with Pere Lefevre on the matter. All this was said 
in a quick, decisive voice. Basil was bringing his clear, 
masculine intellect to bear on the subject. I felt he would 
lose no time and spare no pains in unravelling every possible 
clue. To my surprise, he begged me to defer my letter to 
Virginia until the next day. 

^ It will be a long letter; it will take you hours to write it," 
he continued as I remonstrated with him. ^ You are far too 
tired for such a task, and I am sure Miss Leigh will agree 
with me. You must go home and rest, that you may be 
ready to talk to me this evening; "" but I objected to this on 
the score of selfishness. 

^ You selfish!" he returned in a tone of infinite scorn; but 
he relented at my pleading face. ^Well, if you must write, 
let it be a brief note of preparation; it will be better so. Say 
you have news — important news; that you know exactly 


LIZETTE DUPONT. 


243 


wliere Basil is to be found; that he is well, and that you will 
write more fully by the next mail. Will you promise me to 
do this. Aunt Catherine ? ^ and he would not let me leave him 
until I had promised. 

How strange it was to submit to that strong young will ! 
Since my father’s death no one had contested mine, and it 
was sweet to me to give way. * There is some one to take care 
of us now,’ I thought, as I drove away and left him standing? 
in the middle of the road. He had pulled off his gray ca]^ 
and the sunshine shone on his uncovered head. How strong 
he looked — so full of life and energy, with ^uch free grace 
and ease in every movement— a son of whom any mother 
could be proud! And as I thought of Virginia, I could noV 
.see him for the mist before my eyes. 

The mid-day meal was over when I arrived. I had lefti 
orders that things should go on as usual; but Jeanne brought* 
me a dainty little dinner, and waited on me. Olga was with 
Reggie in the little grove. I could see the r^d umbrella/ 
gleaming through the trees. As soon as 1 had refreshed my- 
self, and written a few lines to Virginia, I joined them, after 
giving orders that our coffee should be served there. I waa 
too much excited to sleep, and an easy-chair in the shadei 
would be delicious. Reggie was lying in the hammock, andj 
looked far more like his old self, in spite of the loss of hiai 
hair. I thought he was prettier than ever. His delicacy 
gave him an ethereal loot, and his eyes were larger and 
brighter. He had his two kittens hugged tightly in his arms.^ 
I thought I never saw a sweeter picture. 

, Olga was reading. She put down her book to talk to me.’ 
'I told her a little about our morning’s conversation, but it 
was not possible to say much before Reggie, and after a time 
jWe changed the subject. Presenily she leant toward me and 
whispered: ‘Do you know, Reggie has been talking about 
his mother to day quite of his own accord When 1 asked 
him if he wanted to go back to her, he shook his head giost 
decidedly. 

‘ “ Reggie will stop here with father and my Dear,” he said. 
(“Mother is always too tired to put Reggie to bed, so Becky 
comes; ” and then he went on about Uncle George, but 1 
coulu not understand him in the least. “If Reggie goes 
home, my Dear must come too,” he finished. Was it not 
pretty of him to say that ? ’ 

‘ Olga, I do believe you love that child more than you love 
Girlie-ga or Wilfred.’ 

‘ I cannot help it,’ she returned quickly. ‘ Is it wrong. 


244 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 

Aunt Catherine ? one is not responsible for these things. I 
dare say Mr. Fleming felt the same for that little child he 
found in the garret. I think Eeggie and I will always love 
each other, if it were only for the memory of the sweet days 
we have passed together.^ 

She spoke in a somewhat troubled tone. Olga certainly 
looked a little pale and subdued this afternoon; perhaps the 
heat oppressed her; she had lost her old vivacity; but the 
next minute she made an effort to recover herself. 

^ Oh, do you know there is something I have not told you ? 
I had a letter from Jem this morning, such a long delightful 
letter, and he says that next week he will be coming home, and 
he wants to know if there will be any chance of seeing me.^ 

^That depends on Basil. Reggie is well enough to travel 
now. Next week? — oh yes! Virginia will be expecting us 
before that.^ 

^Will it be so soon over — our happy visit And Olga 
looked wistful, almost sad. * It will be like a dream when 
we look back on it — the bay, and the yellow sands, and Sefton 
Point, and this dear old house, and the pavilion. Shall you 
care to see Jem again. Aunt Catherine ? But he is nothing 
now; it is only Mr. Basil.^ 

She spoke with the. smile still on her lips. Olga had such 
a lovely smile, but only I who knew her could recognize the 
sadness underneath it. 

* Yes, it is Basil who is our own boy; but you will still be 
a part of my life — you. and Jem. Even Basil will not come 
between us. Surely you believe this, Olga ? ^ 

^Oh yes,^ she returned, kissing me hastily. ^Dear Aunt 
Catherine, do you think I would have it otherwise? All 
these years you have been so patient and so lonely, and now 
you have Mr. Basil and Reggie; for Reggie is your own, too. 
Plow glad Jem will be 1 but you must expect him to be sur- 
prised; and it will be nice, too, for me when I come up to the 
Hall, for there will be Reggie to play with, and sometimes 
for a great treat his grandmother will let me carry him off to 
Fircroft, and we will show him the Surprise; and perhaps 
Hugh will let him have a little garden of his own, and I shall 
sit and watch him with the other children, and Kittv will ^ 
as fond of him as possible;^ 

We had both forgotten Reggie’s mother. What would Olga 
say when she knew the sort of a woman Basil would bring 
to the Hall as its mistress? Would not her pure nature be 
shocked by such a contrast ? would not even Basil sink in her 
estimation when she had seen his wife? I was about to 


LTZETTE DUPONT. 


*245 


answer her, when Jeanne appeared with the coffee; and the 
next moment Basihs tall figure blocked up the doorway. 
Eeggie caught sight of him and shouted his name with all his 
feeble force; then he raised himself up in the hammock and 
stretched out his arms. It was hardly a wonder that Basil 
snatched him up and kissed him before he had a word for us. 
^ Has Reggie wanted father so' badly he asked with that 
wonderful gentleness he always showed to his boy. 

^Reggie always wants father,’ returned the little fellow in 
his quaint way — ^father and my Dear.’ 

I saw Basil look hastily across at Olga; but she was busy- 
ing herself with the coffee-cups and did hot seem to see him. 
I wondered if he noticed her paleness. She had put on her 
white gown to please me. I always grumbled if Olga did not 
wear white in the summer; nothing suited her so well. This 
afternoon she had fastened a spray of jasmine at her throat; 
she looked so young, so child-like and simple, that it did one 
good to see her. I wondered why Basil suddenly knit his 
brows together as though something pained hini ; then he put 
Reggie back in the hammock again and turned to me. 

^ Aunt Catherine, I have seen the entry of my baptism at 
St. Sulpice. Pere Lefevre — what an old brick he is! — went 
with me. There it was — Basil Theodore Lyndhurst. The 
miest who baptized me is dead now; his name was P6re 
Delasse.’ 

^ I am so -glad you have seen it for yourself.’ 

^ Glad that I am a Roman Catholic ? ’ with an amused glance 
at me. ^ You will be sorry to hear, then, that I was re-bap- 
tized at Leeds; but I have found out more than that. Miss 
Leigh, do you think Aunt Catherine is too tired to drive with 
me again to St. Croix ? it is a beautiful evening, and I have a 
fiacre at the door, and we have finished our coffee- ’ 

^Oh, Basil, do you mean ’ 

‘ That we have found Lizette Dupont ? That is exactly 
what I do mean. That old trump — I beg his pardon — P4re 
Lefevre had discovered her; she is still alive, you see, and as 
brisk and sensible at seventy-five as she was at fifty; she told 
his reverence, that she was not much over fifty when she be- 
came my bonne.” 

^ Have you seen her, Basil ? ’ 

^ Xo,’ he replied, laughing. ^ I could not accomplish every- 
thing in three hours and a half. I was more than two hours 
with Monsieur Lefevre, and he gave me something to eat; 
then we went to St. Sulpice and spent another hour, and here 
i am.’ 


246 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURST. 


* Ana you want me to go with you ? ^ 

^ Yes; but not until you have finished your coffee; there is 
no hurry; it is only five now. Miss Leigh, I am afraid you 
will owe me a grudge for carrying off Aunt Catherine; but 
you can understand how anxious I am to establish mv own 
identity.^ 

^ Yes/ she said gently. i can understand that, Mr. Basil, 
and I will go and fetch Aunt Catherine's bonnet and her lace 
shawl — for there is no need for her to fatigue herself un- 
necessarily; and then I will put Reggie to bed, for I can see 
he is growing tired.^ 

She moved away as she - spoke, and I could see Basil was 
watching her closelv; when she had d^aanneared into the 
house, he said: 

Aunt Catherine, you have known ^iss Leigh for years — 
since she was a little girl; does she ever think of herself at 
all ? ' and without waiting for my answer he continued : ‘ But 
I am going to carry Reggie in myself, for he is growing quite 
heavy. Do you think you can sit on my shoulder again, old 
fellow ? ^ and as Reggie screamed with delight at the- idea, 
he was carried off in the old fashion; 

Basil had secured a pair pf fresh horses, and in a very snori; 
time we were rattling down the steep stony road that led to 
St. Sulpice. By-and-by we had to descend, and enter a sort 
of blind alley. The houses looked poor and squalid; but one 
at the end had a more respectable appearance. The step be- 
fore the door had been freshly scoured; some plants blocked 
up the little window. A young wbman with a baby in her 
arms was talking volubly to a man in a blue blouse. Basil 
walked up to her with his cap in his hand. 

^ Madame, ifc is .here that Lizette Dupont lives ? ^ 

^ Mais oui, vraiment; ' monsieur was perfectly correct. She 
was Lizette Du pontes grand-daughter, and this was Gustave, 
her husband. Le bon pere had already enlighted them; they 
were to expect une dame Anglaise, who had lea affaires with 
the grand^mere; would madame and monsieur enter? The 
place was dark; but they would become accustomed to the 
obscurity. And shawas discoursing still volubly when a shrill 
voice from within was heard chiding her for her delay. 

^ Tiens ! thou hast been a chatterbox from thy birth, Marie I 
Let madame enter; ^ and then Marie withdrew ner substantial 
figure from the doorway. 

^ Be not cross, little mother,^ she said tranquilly; ‘ the day 
is long enough and to spare. Entrez, madame ! ^ and I ad- 
vanced cautiously into the close, dark room. 


LIZETTE nVPOET. 


247 


When my eyes became used to the dim light I could see 
Lizette Dupont more distinctly; she was sitting knitting by 
the stove. She was a tiny woman, with a brown, puckered 
face and bead-like black eyes that looked sharply at us. She 
wore a close cap, rather like her great-grandchild^s, and a 
pair of silver ear-rings dan‘gled against her wrinkled neck. 

She greeted us- with shrill welcomes, and begged to know 
our errand. Le bon pere had been mysterious. ‘ ITne dame 
Anglaise wishes to question you, my daughter; there are les 
affaires.^ That was all that had been said; and then he had 
asked her many questions about her past life. 

I commenced cautiously; but directly BasiFs name had 
crossed my lips she interrupted me with a loud exclamation : 

Le petit ange ! le pauvre cher enfant ! was it of him madame 
would speak ? But, truly, le bon Dieu was wonderful in His 
ways! It might be her prayers to our blessed Lady had 
toi]iched her Son’s sacred heart. She had prayed, she had 
wept, that she might have news of the little one before she 
died. 

She was so excited that I hardly knew how to proceed: but 
Basil came to my assistance.. . He took her shrivelled hand, 
and said gently: 

^That was a long time ago, Lizette^ Should you know mo 
now ? ’ 

^You, mopsieur, you!* and the little beady-black eyes 
seemed to look him through^ and through; :^Holy Virgin! 
could this grand-looking monsieur, so much stronger and 
bigger than her Pierre — could he bo her baby, her nursling, 
her petit Basil ? ’ 

^ Yes, truly, ma bonne — am Basil Lyndhurst.* 

^Lyndhurst! oh, the name!’ she screamed, and the skinny 
arms were flung round his neck, and, before he could remon- 
strate, she had kissed him on either cheek. 

He bore it very well, however; indeed, he told me after- 
wards t^at those kisses of his old nurse had. touched him 
greatly. 

^She is on^ a peasant; but once she was the only friend 
J had. Can I ever forget that ? *, 

The poor old creature was sa much overcome that it was 
some time before we could induce her to compose herself. 
The tears rolled down her wrinkled face, and she kept ejaculat- 
ing, in a sort of ecstasy, ‘ Le cher petit! le joli ange! ^ strok- 
ing Basil’s hand all the time. 

He coaxed her at last to recount her little story. She wan-^ 
dered a good deal at first, and we found it difficult to follow 


2 . 1:8 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


her meaning, though she spoke very tolerable French. She 
would clench her fist whenever she mentioned Paul Lynd- 
hurst’s name — ^ cet homme infdme ! ’ as she called him — but 
we understood he-’ better after a little. 

^ I adored my mistress,’ she raid presently; ^ she was so 
gentle and so handsome, and until that bad man broke her 
heart and drove her away she lived only for her child.’ 

^Hush, Lizette; you are speaking of Basil’s father.’ 

But Basil gave me a reproving glance. 

not interrupt her. Aunt Catherine; it is better to hear 
the truth. It' is not possible for me to respect my father’s 
memory; I have told you already that Mr. Flemii j is the 
only father I have ever known.’ 

‘ Fleming! Tiens, mon enfant! that was the name of the 
English priest who carried thee away! Holy Mother! how it 
all comes back to me ! and yet it was nearly four-and-twenty 
years ago.’ 

We exchanged looks of mutual satisfaction, and she 
rambled on: 

* My mistress was so devoted to the child that she could not 
bear him out of her sight. He is my only consolation,” she 
would say. Look at him, Lizette! ” she would cry; ‘^is he 
not a wonderful baby ? and so intelligent ! See, he is holding 
my finger now ! ” and so on ; for she would talk of him for 
hours. It was a happy day for me when P^re Delasse baptized 
him in our beautiful church. We carried him there secretly, 
for fear of monsieur. The English priest was absent, and 
madame was in great perplexity what to do. 

^ " My child must be baptized,” she said. If I cannot find 
a Protestant clergyman, I will take him to St. Sulpice, 
There is no time to be lest; Paul will carry us off in a dav or 
two.” 

^Seest thou, mon enfant, how the blessed Virgin heard my 
prayers ? ’ and her shrill voice softened into enderness. 

^ Alas ! the very day after our little one received the grace 
of baptism there was the terrible scene with monsieur, and 
madame fled from the house. We waited up for her all 
night; monsieur’s rage was awful. When she did not come 
back, and a week had passed, he carried us off.* I -was afraid 
to go, to trust myself with .cet homme terrible; but there was 
the little one, so I went. 

^It was a miserable life we led, wand' ing from town to 
town wherever there were picture-galleries; for monsieur 
cared for nothing but his pictures and the drink. 

* He fell ill at last, and they removed him to a hospital. He 


LIZBTTM DUPONT, 


249 


was raving mad, they told me. What a position ! pioture it 
for thyself, mon eher. Ko money — hardly a sou to buy us 
bread; but the blessed saints were not deaf to Lizette’s prayer. 
The woman of the house was a good Christian; she had 
children of her own; she pitied us. 

There is the garret,^" she said; ^^it will shelter thee and 
the child. When meal-time comes I wil^ spare thee some 
onion broth and some bread. Do not lose faith. When 
monsieur is well, he will repay me.^^ 

^ Oh, she was a good creature, this Madame Gotier ! 

^We lived like this for weeks; le petit grew and thrived. 
When people saw him in the public walks, they said he was 
as beautiful as an angel. Many came up and spoke to him, 
and pressed bon-bons and cakes to him. Then he would run 
to me and show me his treasures. 

^ Regarde-tu, ma bonne, these bon-bons Basil has got ! ” 

^ Then they would look at me curiously. 

^ He is poorly dressed; but that peasant is not his 
mother,^^ they would say. 

One day the English priest came up and spoke to him, 
and the next day to that; and afterward le petit would clap 
his hands at the sight of him. He called him the kind Eng- 
lishman. 

^ One wet day we were in our garret. Le petit had no toys, 
and he was playing with a bit of wood and some rags. I was 
in bad spirits. Madame Gotier had been up, and told me 
that her husband had been grumbling at her. 

‘“Nq have not enough for our own children, and thou art 
feeding strangers,” he had said. 

^ And then she caught up the child and cried, and we both 
wept together. 

^ Lizette, thou must speak to the Maire,” she said pres- 
ently. dare not anger Henri; he is, as thou knowest, of a 
violent temper.” 

^ I prayed to our Mother of Sorrows with all my heart when 
she had left me. Le petit seemed uneasy at my tears. 

^ " Why dost thou weep, ma bonne ? ” he asked, stroking my 
face; "they will give us bread to-day.” 

^ "And to-morrow, mon enfant ? ” 

^ "To-morrow — we shall see;” and he marched off with a 
wise look. 

• What did le pauvre petit know of to-morrow ? Alas ! my 
tears could not cease. Must.l take the child in my arms, 
and beg my way back to St. Croix ? Should wo not both ex- 
pire with fatigue and famine ? 


250 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

^Mon enfant! my faith had failed; and at that moment 
relief was at hand. There was a knock at the door, and the 
English priest came in. Le petit shouted at the sight of 
him. 

^ Hast thou brought Basil some pain-d^epice, monsieur ? 
he cried; and when the Englishman took him in his arms, he 
patted his face with his little hands. 

‘ ^^Are you in trouble, my good woman ? he asked pres- 
ently, sitting down beside me, while the child opened his box 
of bon-bons; and then it all came out — what Madame Gotier 
had told me, and how her husband had refused us shelter. 

^ "I will settle all that,” he said quietly. Will you come 
with me, Basil ? I will bring you back to your nurse pres- 
ently;” and actually le petit left his bon-bons at once. 

^ " May I take some pain-d^^pice to Tonton and Marie ? ” 
he asked. 

'Ah! it was like the dear ongel, to share with others. 

'From that day all went well. Monsieur Fleming — he 
told me that was his name — came to us every day. Some- 
times he took us out with him. Henri ceased to grumble, 
for rent was paid for the garret, and Madame Gotier served 
our meals regularly. It was not always onion soup now, but 
sometimes roast meat and vegetables; and plenty of milk 
and white bread for breakfast and supper. 

' " Monsieur pays for everything,” Madame Gotier told me 
one evening. "Henri is in an excellent temper; everything 
is as it should be.” 

'I was happy then; I think I loved le petit more than my 
own children; I wanted those days to go on forever; too 
soon they came to an end! 

'One day I was summoned to the hospital. Monsieur 
Lyndhurst informed me abruptly that he had no further need 
of *my services. My wages would be paid, and I might go to 
my own people. He had made other arrangements for Basil. 
The English clergyman would take him to England^ — this 
was all he told me. Was it a wonder that I believed in my 
own heart that he was taking him to his mother? 

' I was heart-broken ; but it was for the child^s good. I 
was only an ignorant peasant, who could neither read nor 
write; and he was like a young prince for beauty. I let him 
go; I think I did not speak; something seemed to choke the 
words back. Le petit kissed me, and went off gayly, chatter- 
ing to his new friend. 

'As for me,’ finished Lizette sadly, " I went to live with 
Pierre, until he married again, and then J ulie’s daughter took 


f 


251 


LIZETTE DUPONT. ' 

. 

me in. There were little ones in both houses ; but they were 
not le petit. For years I never ceased to regret him.; but I 
became comforted at last.^ 

‘ Lizette/ I interrupted in a tremulous voice that I strove 
in vain to steady, ‘ you have not described this English clergy- 
man who took Basil away.^ 

^ I am not good at description, madame,^ she returned sim- 
ply. ‘Monsieur was young, but he looked worn and sad; 
someone told me he had had an illness. He was not hand- 
some— not like Monsieur Lyndhurst, who had la beaute de 
Diable — but his face inspired one with confidence. He had 
gray eyes, full of gentleness, and when he smiled it seemed to 
lift the weight off one^s heart. For the rest, his face was 
smooth like a boy’s, and his hair was a reddish brown ; he 
used to rumple it when he grew excited in his talk, and he 
would get up from his chair and walk up and down the room, 
talking all the time.’ 

‘ I never could break him of the habit,’ observed Basil, 
laughing; “and that trick of running his fingers through 
his hair when he was perplexed — how well I remember it I 
Aunt Catherine, is it this close room that makes you look so 
pale ? I shall be glad to get out in the air myself.’ 

‘ Let us go,’ I returned quickly. 

Oh, how true it all was ! I felt as Lizette talked as though 
Eobert Fleming were standing beside me; that” infinitely 
sweet smile, those deep-set gray eyes — had I ever forgotten 
them? 

‘ Must thou go, mon enfant? ’ exclaimed Lizette quprulously. 

have found thee only to see thee vanish again.’ 

‘ I will come again before we leave St. Croix,’ he replied 
soothingly. ‘If I can, I will bring my boy Eeggie; he will 
remind you of the little Basil. I will tell you about him an- 
other time, but I must go now.’ 

He pressed some money into her hand, and shook it 
heartily. Marie was still talking , to her husband; she eyed 
us curiously as we passed. The fiacre was waiting at the end 
of the alley, and we were soon rattling through the stony 
streets. Basil appeared lost in thought for some time ; theu 
he roused himself. 

‘ Aunt Catherine,’ he said quietly, ‘ to-morrow I shall write 
to Mr. Fleming and tell him everything, and you must write 
to my mother.’ 

‘Would it not be better to speak to him, Basil ? — there is 
so much to explain.’ 

^ Of course I must speak to him. If I were in England 


252 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

I would go to him at once, Aunt Catherine,^ looking at me 
wistfully. ^ Do you not think wc ought to go as soon as pos- 
sible ? ^ 

* You are rigiit. When she receives my letter — the letter 
I am to write to-morrow — your mother will count the hours 
until she sees you. She will not sleep or rest until she has 
looked upon her son^s face.^ 

‘ In that case we ought to start at once. It is Friday — we 
might take the Monday boat. Is not this your opinion ? ^ 

^I have not thought about it; I will tell you ta-morrow,’ 
I replied faintly. 

I could decide nothing more that night. Basil was very 
quick. He saw at once that I was exhausted, and said no 
more ; but when I looked at him I could see by his intent 
face that he was making his plans. Of course he would have 
his way, and, after all, it was a comfort not to decide for one^s 
self. ‘ I shall leave everything to BasiV v/as my last thought 
before I fell asleep that night. 


CHAPTEK XXVII. 

GOOD-BY TO LA MAISO'NIIiJ'ETTE. 

‘I never looked a last adieu 

To things familiar, but my heart 
Shrank v/ith a feeling, almost pain, 

Even from their lifelessness to part. 

Miss Bowles. 

After all, Basil had his way, and we arranged to start by 
the Monday boat. Olga heard our decision very quietly. 
When I said a word or two of regret about her holiday being 
over, she stopped me at once. 

^ That has nothing to do with you and Mr. BasiV she said 
quickly. ^ Your business is finished; it is right for you to go 
home. We have been here seven weeks — seven weeks — and I 
think they have been the happiest of my life ' — with a certain 
wistful emphasis on the words. 

^But you are sorry that our visit is over, Olga ? ^ I persisted. 

^ One is always soM’y when a holiday is over, but that is not 
the right way of looking at it. Your anxiety is over, and 
you are going to show Mr. Basil his beautiful home, and I 
shall be near you^ and you will tell me about everything, and 


258 


GOOD-BY TO LA MAmONNBTTE. 

Jem and I will be as happy as possible/ But, for all that, 
there were tears in her eyes when she kissed me. ‘ Dear 
Aunt Catherine, it has been so nice having you to myself. I 
shall never forget those days at La Maisonnette — never ^ 

Here she broke off suddenly, as Basil came into the room, 
and went out into the garden to join Reggie. Basil looked 
after her- rather anxiously. 

‘ Has she been crying ? —ho asked abruptly. ^ Is she sorry 
to leave here ? I do not wish to be selfish. Aunt Catherine, 
and if you think Miss Leigh ^ 

‘Olga is quite ready to go,' I returned; ^she perfectly ap- 
proves of our decision. As for breaking Cur journey and 
staying at an hotel for the night, she approves of that, too. 
She thinks, with me, that ‘Reggie will be too tired if we go 
on, and that it v/ill be far better for you to see your home in 
daylight.' 

‘ I was not thinking of myself when I proposed it,' he re- 
plied, with a shade of annoyance in his tone. Basil had been 
slightly irritable all the morning; the excitement and strain 
of the last few days were telling upon him. ' I thought a few 
hours' rest would be good for you and Reggie, and we should 
give my mother a little time to recover herself. If you or 
Miss Leigh think otherwise, I need not engage the rooms.' 

‘ It is far better to do as you have arranged, Basil, my 
dear. It is such pleasure to have some one to take care of 
us. " I have always had to be the business-man of the family ; 
but I shall gladly abdicate in your favor;' but to my surprise 
he made no response to this little speech. 

He took up some telegrams and read them, and then he 
said in a low voice : 

‘ Miss Leigh does not look herself, I want you to tell her 
from me that if she wishes it Reggie shall be with her as 
much as he is now. I am too grateful to her not to spare 
him whenever she wants him. It shall be the same at Brook- 
field as it is here. AVill you tell her this. Aunt Catherine ?' 

‘ Certainly I will if you wish it, Basil.' 

His manner gave me a little uneasiness; he seemed far from 
happy, as though Olga's sadness had infected him; but after 
a few minutes he conquered his unaccountable depression, and 
showed me the letter he had written to Mr. Fleming. 

‘I have sent a telegram, too,' he said presently; but I was 
BO absorbed with the contents of the letter that I forgot to 
ask him, then or afterwards, what he had said in his telegram. 
There was so much to arrange that day— letters to write and 


254 


TUB SB ARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURSTt 


bills to pay, and all sorts of commissions to give Basil when, 
he went to the town. 

He did not come back until Reggie was asleep and Olga 
had joined me in the salon. , He found us sitting ^ the opea 
window, looking out on the barn and the moonlit court. 

^It is such a delicious evening! ^ he 'said coaxingly; %duld 
not you and Miss Leigh like a stroll on the common before 
supper? You have not been out of the house all day. Aunt; 
Catherine ! ^ 

^ But you must be so tired, Basil.^ ' 

^ Tired with a contemptuous laugh; ^why, I could walk 
ten more miles ■^ith ease. Miss Leigh. I hope you will join 
us. Monsieur Perrot has been prophesying rain to-morrowj 
so perhaps it may be our last walk together at St. Croix/ 

^ Very well,^ she replied gently, rising at once from her seat(j 
and we followed Basil into the lane. 

We strolled past the little grove and down the common,] 
towards Sefton Point, but he would not let us pause there, sa 
we went down the steep path, by the bathing-house, to the 
sands below. Just as we were passing it Basil addressed Olgaj 
for the first time : 

‘ Do you remember that morning when you called to us ti 
take shelter from the rain ? It was one of the many kind- 
nesses for which 1 have to thank you — one of the things 1 
shall never forget. I hope you do not think I am ungrateful 
if I say little about them.^ 

‘ I think it is your nature to be grateful, Mr. Basil,^ she" 
answered quietly; ^but you have nothing for which to thank 
me. I have alw^ays pleased myself in what I have done. It 
is sopleasant to serve one^s friend^s. 

^We are friends, then. Miss Leigh 

I thought it rather odd of Basil to make this speech when' 
Olga had shown him such real friendship; but she answered! 
him quite naturally; 

^Oh yes; I hope so. I should be very sorry to believe; 
otherwise.^ 

^And I, too; ’ but he spoke so much under his breath that' 
I doubted if she heard them. Then he turned to me andj 
asked me to take his arm. I was walking so slowly that he] 
was sure I was tired. He spoke in his old affectionate way.' 
Perhaps he already knew how I loved to lean on that strong 
young arm. 

We stood for a long time looking at the silvery waves as; 
they shimmered and sparkled in the moonlight, _ We weroj 


QOOD-BY TO LA MAmOKN'ETTK 255 

all very silenx at first until Olga began to talk in her gentle, 
rapid way. 

‘I shall always like this bay; but I think I prefer the wide 
open sea at St. Genette, where the big waves roll in and break 
into white surf on the shore. It is more real, somehow. Do 
you know what I mean ? ' half turning to Basil as though she 
were addressing him. 

think I can guess,' he returned; ^ there is more freedom. 
It gives one a greater sense of power. One can imagine what 
the sea looks like hundreds t)f miles -away; but, all .the same, I 
should have thought this quiet, peaceful bay would have 
suited your taste better.’ 

'You think lam tame in my ideas,' she replied; with a 
touch of impatience. ' You are wrong; you do not know me. 
This peace, this tranquillity, might become a little monoto- 
nous m time; it is more suited forage than youth. I am^not 
quite so prim and quiet as you think. I am afraid I likb 
change — variety, even storms; yes, even storms,' with -a little 
laugh; 'it is like life. Things are* forever changing in life — 
hopes* and fears, joys, disappointments, miseries, all come 
tumbling to our feet like the big waves at St. Genette.' 

' I think there are no miseries in store for you,' he answered 
quickly. ' If I were a prophet, I should prophesy smooth 
things of your future. After all, your life will be like this bay 
— there will be no billows mountain high to engulf your little 
bark.' 

' There are storms even in this bay,' she replied, smiling. 
'People have been drowned — Jeanne told me so. Your 
smooth things may be deceitful. I do not think you are a 
true prophet. Do you know, when I was a child I wanted to 
be a martyr; ’ and actually she related to him the childish 
incident of the scorched finger. She told it so prettily, too, 
with a pathetic rendering that took away all desire to laugh. 

I do not know what Basil thought of it, but he said : 

' Poor little thing ! Poor innocent little child I ' — half to 
himself. 

' So you see I shall never make a martyr/ 

' Why not ? ' he returned. ' Because you have failed once ? 
Do you think perfection is to be achieved in one attempt ? 
You must ask Aunt Catherine's opinion — it is not for me to 
talk to you.' 

' But I wish you to talk to me,' she replied playfully. 

' I cannot. Miss Leigh. I have made too many mistakes in 
my own life to set people right with their^. How can you 
ask a man who has trampled on his own ideals, and who has 


256 THB BBARCH FOR BASIL LYBBRURST. 


squandered all his priceless treasures in return for a passing 
gratification, to preach faith to such an one as you ? Mr. 
Fleming is your sort; he would talk to you for hours/ 

^ Mr. Basil/ she said quickly, thought you said just now 
that we were friends. Have you forgotten that already ? ’ 

‘ Ho ; certainly noV looking at her in some surprise. 

^ Well, then, I do not like my friends to paint themselves in 
such black colors; it is not kind to Aunt Gatherine, or to 
yourself. What does it matter if you have made mistakes, 
, except that you must bear the consequences as patiently as 
you can ? So many people make mistakes, and are sorry, and 
then do better, and ^ 

^ But there is one mistake that can never be rectified/ he 
answered in a low voice. 

I knew at once that he was thinking of his wife, hut I 
could not tell if Olga understood him; it was not possible for 
either of them to speak quite plainly. 

^ If it cannot be rectified, you must just make the best of 
it/ she answered. ^ I suppose if we sow tares of our own free 
will we cannot expect corn to grow up. Is that not true ? ^ 

^ Yes, I suppose so/ he replied gloomily; but she would hot 
let him finish in thatotone. 

^ You must not speak so, as though everything would not 
come right some day. Life is not forever. You will not 
take your mistakes v/ith you up above. Perhaps — wlio 
knows ? — they may be set right here.^ 

^Hever — never betv/een his clenched teeth. 

^Hever mind/ she returned cheerfully; ^then you must 
just put up with them as they are. It will not be so hard 
when you are in your beautiful home, and you have your 
mother and Aunt Catherine and Reggie. You will have so 
much to do ; there will be your tenants, and perhaps you may 
enter Parliament; and when you are doing good with all your 
might and helping other people to be good too, you will not 
find much time for thinking of past mistakes. Am I not 
right. Aunt Catherine ? ^ 

^ Yes, my darling* Basil will find this out for himself one 
day.’ 

^ What am T to say to you tv,ro good women ? ’ returned Basil 
with suppressed emotion.* / 1 think I had better say nothing 
for fear I should make an ass of myself; but you shall see — 
yen shall see — if I am not a better man from this day.’ 

^it will all come right,’ she said cheerfully; and then she 
walked a little farther to the edge of the sea, and we heard 
her singing the verse of a hymn softly to herself : 


0OOt)-Jif TO LA MAIMNNBTTM. 


ist 


‘Brief life is here our portion ; 

Brief sorrow, short-lived care ; 

The life that knows no ending*, 

The tearless life, is there,’ 

Basil made no remark, and wo walked on. Once we looked 
back; Olga was still standing motionless in the same position. 
The moonlight shone on her white dress, and on her uplifted 
face. She had thrown a light v/oollen scarf over her head. 
In the strange silvery light she looked like some beautiful 
picture. 

‘ Do you know of what she reminds me now, Basil ? ^ 

* No,^ he answered rather shortly. 

^ Of some picture I have seen of Christiana about to cross 
the river. The drapery looks just the same, and there is the 
water.’ 

thought Christiana was an old woman,’ ho answered 
3urtly, ‘ To my mind. Miss Leigh rather resembles Mercy or 
Phoebe.’ 

Evidently my fancy did not please him, for he called to 
her somewhat peremptorily : 

' ‘ It is getting late. Miss Leigh, and Aunt Catherine is very 
tired; ’ and she ran toward us at once. 

‘ I suppose I must not ask what you were thinking about 
just now ? ’ remarked Basil, as she joined us. 

‘ I was only saying good-by to it all,’ she returned, looking 
at him a little sadly. ‘ It has been such a lovely time, and 
this is such a dear place ! ’ and then she came round to my side 
and took my arm, and we* went slowly up by the washing-pool, 
and under the dark overhanging trees; and it seemed to me 
that neither of them spoke again until we reached home, and 
then Basil said he had a headache, and did not want his supper. 

Olga and I went to church the next morning, while Basil 
stopped with Reggie; and in the evening Olga took his place. 
We spent the afternoon in the garden, and Basil made me 
come with him and say good-by to the pavilion; he did not 
ask Olga to come too. 

‘ It is only for you and me,’ he whispered. ^ Do you think 
I shall ever forget that night, Aunt Catherine, when I was 
sick with famine and could not- touch food; and yet I could 
take it from your hand like a child.’ 

We went to church together after that, leaving Olga .with 
Reggie. Basil had been a little quiet and subdued all day, 
but he became like his old self directly he found himself alone 
wiih me. In the course of our walk he spoke a great deal of 
his mother and Aline. 

17 


258 THE SEARCH F0REA8IL LYNDHURST. 


want you to tell me what I am to do/ lie said presently. 
' I have been lying awake for hours thinking of the future. 
I knoViT what my duty is to Aline, and yet how am I to dp it 
without causing misery to you and my mother ? I want you 
to advise me and help me/ 

' My dear,^ I replied after a moment^s hesitation, ‘ I am old- 
fashioned, and have old-fashioned notions/ 

^ You mean/ he returned quickly, for he always seemed to 
understand the slightest hint, ^that I must act up to the 
spirit as well as to the letter of my marriage vows — for better 
for worse — and it has been for worse all along.^ A bitter sigh 
escaped him, and then he went on : ^ I have tried to be a good 
husband to her — indeed I have tried; but it is she who has 
failed in her wifely duty. Aunt Catherine, I should never 
have left her . as I have if she had said a word to keep me; 
her sullenness has driven me away. I believe in my heart 
that she is happier without me; last night I was thinking 
that perhaps it would be better for her to stay with George/ 

‘ Basil, my dear boy, would that be right ? ^ 

^ I think it would be the lesser of two evils. If Aline be 
at the Hall, she will make your and my mother^s life wretched; 
she is safer with George; in some way I think I irritate her. 
I could make her an allowance, and Keggie and I could go 
and see her sometimes ! ^ 

I was silent. It would be easier so; our poor boy would in 
some degree recover his lost freedom. But again I asked 
myself. Would it be right ? Could any one absolve him of 
the responsibility he had taken on himself ? ^ Those whom 
God has joined together let no man put asunder/ As I 
thought of those awful words I shuddered. 

Basil was watching my face as though to gain the. clue to 
my thoughts. I repeated the words aloud; he seemed to 
shiver as he heard them. 

* Don^t, Aunt Catherine ! ^ 

'My dear, she is your wife; you are responsible in God^s 
sight for that poor girl; she is the mother of your boy — of 
your little lost angel. In spite of her grievous infirmities, 
she has been a true wife to you/ 

He flushed up at that. 

' She has never cared for any other man,^ he said proudly. 

' In her own way she loves you. No, do not shake your 
head. I have gathered this from your own words. You have 
no right to refuse her the shelter of your home, unless she 
tells you that she wishes to remain with her brother.^ 

' She will never tell me that/ 


GOOD BY TO LA MAmoUTNBTTM. 


25 ^ 


^ Are you sura of that, Basil ? ^ 

^ Quite sure. You do not knov/ Aline; she is proud, too, in 
her way; she always wanted to marry a gentleman — to live 
above her station ; she likes soft, luxurious living — handsome 
clothes — dainty food ; she would like to drive in her carriage. 
George ‘cannot gratify her tastes; I have onlv to say Come ” 
and she will leave him at once.’ 

‘ And yet you think she will be happier with him ? ’ 

^ After a time — yes; these things will only satisfy her until 
they have lost their novelty. She has got the demon of un- 
rest within her; neither I nor any living man can make Aline 
happy. I am telling you the whole truth ; when she comes 
to the Hall, there will be misery in store for us all.’ 

^ It will not be so bad as you think, Basil,’ I returned, anx- 
ious to soothe him. ^In a small house it might be so; but 
when you see the wing we call the Dower House, you will 
take a more cheerful view of things. There are two large 
sitting-rooms; there will be no necessity for us even to have 
our meals together. Aline need never see us unless she likes.’ 

' Aunt Catherine,’ he remonstrated, ‘ is it to me you are 
saying this ? Do you think I am so happy that I shall not 
need you every day of my life ? Will there be any one dearer 
to me or more honored than you ? ’ 

^ Basil — ^your mother ! ’ 

'I do not know my mother,’ impatiently; ^she is not my 
friend as you have been. How- do I know how things will be 
between us ? It is you to whom I shall turn for comfort 
when Aline ’ — and then he stopped, and went on bitterly — 
^yes, I will ask her to come; I will not shirk my duty. Will 
that content you ? ’ 

^ Yes,’ I replied, pressing his arm. ^ I ask nothing but to 
see you do your duty. Basil, when you go and fetch your 
wife I will go too.’ 

^ You!’ he exclaimed, with a sthrt; and then he said grate- 
fully, lAit that is so like your goodness ! ’ 

^ My dear, what nonsense! You are one of us now. Your 
burthens are ours. Oh, I knov/ well what Virginia will say 
when she hears your story ! She has such a good heart. She 
will say, Bring your wife to me, Pasil, and let me try to be 
a mother to her;” and nothing will exceed her gentleness. 
Aline will not be able to resist her when she sees herself sur- 
rounded by all this kindness. She will not be sullen any 
longer.’ 

I think he was too much touched to answer, and we walked 
on in silence. It was sweet to me to hear the assurances of 


260 THE SEARCH E6R BASIL LWBHURST. 


his affection^ and yet in my heart I felt as though I were 
robbing Virginia. She had still to win him. 

Olga was singing to herself in the dusk when we returned; 
we could hear the clear, sweet notes through the open window. 
Basil made me stand in the court-yard for along time listen- 
ing to them. 

^She- will not sing like that unless she believes herself 
alone,’ he said by way of explanation; and, indeed, I had never 
heard her sing so well. 

The rest of the evening passed very peacefully. After 
supper, we sat round the window — still m the dark — a>nd 
talked; at least, Basil talked. Olga was rather quiet. lie 
wanted to hear about all the people on the estate; the names 
and private history of the tenants — his curiosity on the sub- 
ject was insatiable. 

* I mean to be interested about everybody and everything,’ 
he finished, when I declined to enlighten him any more. 

I think we were all a little tired that night; but Olga came 
into my room to look at Reggie in his sleep. 

‘ It is for the last time,’ she said softly, as she kissed his 
closed eyelids. ‘ He belongs to you no^. Aunt Catherine.’ 

I had given her Basil’s message, and I reminded her of 
this, but she only shook her head. 

Everything will be different,’ she returned rather sadly. 

‘ Reggie will have his mother and his grandmother and you ; 
he will not need me then. Mr. Basil is very kind; but he 
does not understand that things must be different: ’ and then 
she went away without looking at him again. 

I thought of Reggie’s baby- words, ‘I shall always want 
father and my Dear;’ and I could not help thinking Eiat 
Olga might be wrong. 

The next morning Basil took Reggie down to St. Genetto 
to see Lizette, while Olga and I completed our packing. They 
drove there and back, so as to‘ save the child any fatigue. 
Then both looked wonderfully bright on their return. 

‘ Lizette was quite bewildered at first,’ Basil said, laughing ; 

‘ she took Reggie for me. We could not make her understand 
for a long time. Reggie was quite alarmed. “Reggie is 
Reggie! ” he kept saying; so at last she was convinced. “ He 
is thy image, mon cher!” she said presently. “I am grow- 
ing old; my eyes are dim. I thought surely it was mon 
petit.” Ah, well, we have left her happy, poor old soul ! so 
it IS a good morning’s work, after all.’ 

We sat in the little grove all the afternoon, and Jeanne 
eerved us our coffee there. I missed Olga after a time, and 


^AULD ZANC syne: 261 

Basil said he would go in search of her. He seemed to Icnow 
instinctively where she was to be found. 

It was growing late, so I dressed Keggie and my sell The 
fiacre was at the door, and Jules and Jeanne were bringing 
out the luggage. Kollo was with his mistress. J felt a little 
anxious at Olga^s delay, and went out in the lane to look for 
her. She and Basil were just coming down the field-path.* 

^ There' is Aunt Catherine,’ I heard her say; and they 
quickened their steps. 

I thought Olga seemed a little excited. She slipped her 
hand in my arm as I stood waiting for the luggage to be 
strapped on the fiacre. -The sun was just setting; a sort of 
glorified stillness seemed to prevade the scene. How peace- 
ful it all looked — the old house, with its brown shutters, its 
open windows; the court-yard with its sycamore; the steep, 
shady lane; the cornfields ! There were the chickens scratcbiT 
ing in the dust as usual; the gray and white kittens frisking 
on tho doorway ; J eanhe clattering to the gate with one pack- 
age after another. 

Basil assisted us into the fiacr^ in silence, and then followed 
us and took Reggie on his knee. 

^ Good-by to La Maisonnette ! ’ exclaimed Olga, as J ules 
cracked his whip. Her vo:3e was so sad that we both looked 
at her. Were there ‘tears- in her eyes, or was it only the sun- 
light ? ^ Good-by to La Maisonnette, and the dear, beautiful 
days that have been so happy 1 ’ 


CHAPTER XXVm. 

^AULD LANG} SYNE.’ 

* But I am constant as the northern star. 

Of whose true-fixed and resting quality 
There is no fellow in the firmament.’ 

'‘Julius Cmar: 

* He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers 
While I shall have my life.’ 

^ Henry FJixJ 

We had a calm passage, and the September night was so 
v/arm and pleasant that we remained late on deck. Olga 
seeme^ to enjoy pacing up and down in the starlight. She 
yielded reluctantly to my proposition at last to seek our 
berths, and secure two or three hours’ sleep; but, after all. 


262 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST: 


the suggestion was a wise ono, as it enabled us to join Basil 
at breakfast feeling tolerably refreshed. 

I think we all found the journey from Southampton-^ littlo 
irksome. Keggie, who was still weak from his recent illness, 
curled himself up on Cigars lap, and was soon fast asleep. 
Every half-hour Basil begged t6 relieve her, but she always 
refused. 

^ Do let me keep him,’ she pleaded. ^ He is so light that I 
can hardly feel his weight/ 

But, for all that, she looked a little weary when we arrived 
at Waterloo. 

Basil had secured rooms for us at Yictoria. It was cmite 
early in the afternoon as we drove up to our hotel; but Reg- 
gie was already asking to be put to bed, so we felt v/e had 
done wisely to break the journey. It was arranged that he 
was to sleep with Olga that night; she had begged it as a 
favor. We were showed at once to our rooms; and v/hen 
Reggie had had his tea and was comfortably tucked, up in 
bed, we left him under the charge of the chambermaid, and 
went down to our sitting-room. 

Dinner was on the taMe and as soon as we had finished we 
drew our chairs round the open window and looked down on 
the animated scene below. A stream of vehicles passed every 
moment; the foot-passengers were jostling each other on the 
pavement ; eager faces, gay dresses, children’s voices-:-noise, 
movement everywhere. Olga gazed down upon it all with a 
grave, abstracted face. Perhaps at that moment her thoughts 
were far away. Most likely she was recalling a different 
scene; — a steep, shady lane, wi(h fern -covered banks, the blue 
water of the bay shining in the sunlight; a certain brown 
gate with a sycamore over it. Near us a bell was ringing for 
the evening service; a woman was singing in the square. 
We could hear her voice — a little cracked, but not without a 
rude slur of melody — ^ In the gloaming ’ — oh, that pitiful old 
song, with its sweet, reproachful plaint ! I seemed to hear 
it in a sort of dream. I was thinking hov/ Brookfield would 
look to-morrow. I was longing to near the rooks cawing 
over my head, to see the elms With the evening light on them, 
to feel Virginia’s arms round me. I woke up with a start. 
Olga was watching me. There v/as a smile..on her face. 

^ Where is Basil, my dear ? ’ 

^He has gone down to smoke his cigarette in the square. 
He will not be long. Do you know you have been asleep. 
Aunt Catherine ? We would not disturb you.’ 

• I thought I was at Brookfield. Ah, the woman has stopped 


^AVLD LANQ SYJSTK^ 


263 


singing now. I am so tired of that song. I think I will go 
and look at Keggie, just to see he is all right. I shall not be 
long, and then we will have some tea to wake us up.^ 

Reggie was asleep, and the chamber-maid — a pleasant-look- 
ing young woman — was still beside him. Her work w^as over 
for the evening, she said. She could wait until the young 
lady came to relieve her so I went down again. Our sitting- 
room was at the end of a long corridor. As I walked slowly 
down it, a'gentleman coming up the staircase attracted my 
attention. He was a tall man, with iron-gray hair, and from 
his dress was evidently a clergyman. Something in his walk 
struck me as familiar. The next moment he accosted mo. 

^ Would you be so good as to tell me ^ he began, and 

then he stopped. I suppose I was looking at him strangely. 

^Mr. Fleming!^ 

^ Catherine — good heavens ! ^ 

And then for a moment there was no other word. I think 
for the minute he could not speak. It was so sudden, so un- 
expected, after all those years. 

I am afraid my first speech vms wholly stupid. 

^ How could you recognize me ? ^ 

^ I might ask you the same question,^ and he gave a nerv- 
ous lau^. ^ It was your expression, and the way you looked 
at me; but ’ 

He did not finish his sentence, but I could see then the old 
keen look that used to read me so truly. 

In spite of the joy of this meeting, I shrank a little from 
his scrutiny. 

^I have, changed, of course — eight-and-twenty years would 
change any one. If you had passed me, I should have had no 
right to be hurt. A man is different. A woman ages more 
quickly.’ 

I hardly knew that I was saying in my nervousness, for he 
was still holding my hand, and the clear gray eyes v/ere still 
reading me. 

^ Eight-and-twenty years ! is it really so long as that, Cath- 
erine ? — I beg your pardon. Miss Sefton; but’ — dropping my 
hand and looking away from me — I should have known you 
anywhere; you are wonderfully little changed considering! 
We are both middle-aged people; but my life lias been a hard 
one. I ^hall be glad to hear that yours has been smooth.’ 

I forgot to return any answer to this, though he spoke in 
a questioning tone. Oh, I knew well that his life had been 
hard! It was stamped on his thin, carev/orn face; the weary 
stoop of his shoulders told it. In a certain sense he had aged 


264 THIS SEARCH FOR BABIL LYNBHURBT. 


more than I had; only the vivid brightness' of his eyes, and 
the quick, energetic voice, recalled the Robert Fleming of 
old. He had grown gray, too; but I had known that before. 

More than one person had passed and had looked at us 
curiously; every moment some door opened into the corridor. 

^We cannot stop here,^ I said hurriedly. ^Our sitting- 
room is just by; will you come in?^ 

will come by-and-by,^ he returned rather absently; ^but 
there is a friend I must see first. Humber eighty-four. Yes, 
that was what they told mo downstairs.^ 

^ Humber eighty-four is our sitting-room,' I observed, smil- 
ing. 

He looked so perplexed at this that I was about to explain, 
when an exclamation behind us made us turn quickly. Basil 
was springing up the staircase three steps at. a time. 

^ So you have come ? ' was all he said; but the look the two 
men interchanged, and the way they grasped ea6h other's 
hand, was enoug’. to tell me what they were to each other. 
As for Mr. Fleming's face, it was illuminated. 

^ My dear boy, have I ever failed to come when you sent 
for me ? ' 

‘ Hever — never, my dear old friend ! 

* Basil, do you mean to tell me that you sent for Mr. Flem- 
ing?' 

‘ Why, of course ! ' with an astonished look at me. * I told 
you that I telegraphed from St. Croix. Have you forgotten 
that. Aunt Catherine?' 

But before I could answer, Mr. Fleming interrupted us; he 
was look.ing from one to the other in the utmost perplexity. 

‘ Do you know this lady, Basil ? She used to be a friend of 
mine ih the old time.' 

‘ So she Jiold me. Look here, Mr. Fleming : you ought to 
have waited for -my letter — it would have explained every- 
thing — instead of rushing up to London in this impulsive 
way. I was thinking about you just now as I was smoking 
in the square. I shouldn't wonder if the dear old man puts 
in an appearance to-night," that was what I .said to myself; 
and then, as -I came upstairfe, I saw you and Aunt Catherine 
together.' 

‘ My dear boy, will you answer my question ? Are you a 
relative of my old friend. Miss Sefton ? ’ 

But, after all, I would not let Basil answer. 

‘ He is Virginia's son ! ' I returned quickly. ^ Basil is her 
boy, and mine. He is our father's heir — ^liis own lawful 
grandson; and it is you — you w,ho have cherished our boy all 


^AULD LANG SFNN, 265 

these years! Thank God that we have met at last, and I can 
thank you for all your goodness to Basil ! ’ 

He was very much surprised,; he grew quite pale with 
emotion. I do not think he could have heard such news and 
not be moved by it. 

' Come,^ said Basil, throwing his arm lightly over his shoul- 
ders, ^we cannot stand out here any longer talking about ouf 
private aifairs. There is only Miss Leigh in the sitting-room, 
and she knows everything. Come in. Aunt Catherine,’ and 
we followed hinj at once. 

Olga certainly looked surprised at our abrupt entrance; 
but at BasiBs first word she came up to Mr. Fleming and gave 
him her hand. 

' You are Mr. BasiBs friend,^ she said in her pretty girlish 
way. ' Oh, we know all about you ; he is always talking of 
you! I am so glad that you have come at last; it is a great 
pleasure — is it not. Aunt Catherine ? ’ and then she gave me 
a quick, loving look. ^How I must go to Regjgie; and there 
is so much that you three will have' to say to each other; ^ 
and before any of us could stop her she had left the room. 

I sat down by the open window, and left Basil undisturbed 
to tell his story. Mr. Fleming made him go back to the be- 
ginning. He described his life In the pavilion; his first 
meeting with Olga; our kindness to Reggie; the child’s ill- 
ness, and all that followed; Pere Lefevre’s story; and the 
visit to Lizette Duj)ont. 

^Ah, poor Lizette! I remember her well!’ observed Mr. 
Fleming, with much feeling. ^ She was a faithful creature. 
But for her you would have fared badly, Basil. How strange, 
hoTV marvellous, it all seems ! To think all these years I had 
a Sefton living under my roof; that the boy I thought was 
friendless and penniless was the heir to Brookfield Hall! 
Leave me to think over it for a moment; your story has al- 
most taken my breath away.’ 

^Aunt Catherine shall make us some tea,’ returned Basil 
gayly. ‘ I am thirsty with so much talking. I have had more 
than my share.’ Then, as he followed me to the table, he 
said curiously : ^ What was the waiter saying to you just now ? 
was it about Miss Leigh ? ’ 

‘ Yes; Olga had pencilled me a little note. Reggie was 
awake and she could not leave him, so she wished us all good- 
night. The chambermaid had brought her some tea, and sho 
was quite comfortable, and she said again how glad she was 
Mr. Fleming had come.’ 

Miss Leigh knows exactly wJien to efface herself. Yes, it 


266 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


is just like her; but she would not have been in the way/ 
Mr. Fleming overheard him as he joined us. 

‘ Who is that young lady with the pretty voice — whom I 
fear that I have banished from the room ? is she a protegee 
of yours. Miss Sefton ? ’ 

‘ Yes, Virginia and Lare very fond of her. Olga is charm- 
ing when one knows her well. Do you remember Fircroft^ 
that old red house near the church ? she lives there with her 
brother. Mr. Leigh is our curate-in-charge.^ 

^ Yes, I remember Fircrof t; it was to let in my time; old 
Miss Crowder had just died. When I have time I must ask 
after a few of my Brookfield friends. I have a tenacious 
meinory — it will astonish you; but there is another subject 
we have not mentioned : 1 have not yet asked after your wife, 
Basil.' His voice was grave, and he looked fixedly at the voung 
man as he spok^. 

‘She is well; at least, I believe so,' returned Basil in an 
embarrassed tone. ‘ She is with George at present.' 

The anxious look deepened on Mr. Fleming's face. 

‘My dear boy, you have not left her ?' . 

‘ Only for a month or two; one must have change some- 
times. Holloway was driving me mad, so I thought it best 
to go away for a little. She let me take the boy; I couldn't 
have gone without him; she knew that.' 

‘And things are no better ? ' 

‘ They never will be. George manages to keep her straight 
for a little; but it iiever lasts long — it never can with Aline.' 

‘ Poor girl ! poor girl ! and yet jn her way she is good to 
you; are you'^ — and then he looked at me and hesitated — ‘do 
you mean to bring your "vnfe to Brookfield Hall ? ' 

‘I suppose I must;' but I interposed: 

‘We shall go and fetch her together. Basil's burthens are 
ours now; we must share them together. If he be unhappy, 
we shall be unbappy too.' 

A peculiar softness came into Mr. Fleming's eyes; but he 
looked at Basil, not at me. 

‘ You will not be unhappy, my boy, with such friends to 
help you. Your wife is young, there may be hope still; do 
not leave her with her brother too long. Mr. Barton is a 
good man in his way; but we must not shift our responsibili- 
ties on to other men’s shoulders; no one can relieve you of a 
husband's duty to that poor girl.'^ 

Basil flushed as though the advice were unpalatable to him; 
he threw up his head a little proudly. ‘I know; you need 
not tell me,' he said bitterly. ‘ I have brought the misery on 


U ULD LAm syne: 267 

myself and must abide by it. If a man acts like a fook he 
must pay for it/ 

It was the old reckless tone. As he heard it, Mr. Fleming 
rose and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘ I am at my old quar- 
ters, and it is getting late; will you walk across the Park with 
me ? — you can smoke your cigarette and we can finish our 
talkV And then I knew that he wanted to be alone with 
Basil, his boy as well as mine — that nry presence was a re- 
straint. I thought Basil agreed to this proposition a little 
reluctantly; perhaps he dreaded the clear-sighted judgment 
of his mentor ; but Mr. Fleming did not appear to notice it. 
The sudden leave-taking troubled me; he had said so little- 
to me or I to him ; it was Basil who had engrossed him. A 
chilly feeling of disappointment crept over me as I thought 
how long it might be before we met again. 

To my surprise he seemed to answer this thought*. 

^ It is not good-by,^ he said quietly; ^ Basil tells me that 
you do not leave until mid day to-morrow. I should like to 
come and see you again — may I ? ^ 

*1 shall be very glad.^ 

‘ Then I will come/ He seemed to wait until Basil had 
left the room, and then he came a little closer. 

^ I should like to talk to you about Basil; he has been very 
dear all these years — he is still — 1 have missed him terribly.^ 

* I am afraid he has not always treated you well.^ 

^ Never mind that now; with all his faults he has been like 
a son to me. Well, it has been a great pleasure finding you 
two together; good-by — God bless you r and before I could 
answer he was gone. 

The room looked a little solitary, and I went up 'to Olga. 
She was sitting, by the open window; she seemed surprised 
to see me. 

^ Has Mr. Fleming gone already ? ^ 

^ Yes, dear, and he has taken Basil with him. Ho wanted 
a long quiet talk with him. Why have you not gone to bed, 
Olga ? And you are so tired.^ 

^ Not so very tired ^ — wrapping my arms round her and 
leaning against me, a faVorite action of hers in some moods. 
^ Aunt Catherine, were you not very glad to meet your old 
friend again ? ^ 

^ Very glad indeed/ 

^ I. should have liked to have seen more of him; but of 
course I knew I was in the way. He is just what I thought. 
Do you knov/, his face reminds me a little of yours. No; I 
cannot explain it ^ — as I uttered an incredulous exclamation 


268 THE SEARCH FOR BA^SIL LYNDHURST. 


— ^ but you have both got the same clear, earnest look — what 
Jessie calls a trustable look/ 

^ My dear, I am very much obliged to you and Jessie/ 

^ He is not young, of course — his hair is quite gray. How 
old did you say he was ? ^ 

^ Mr. Fleming must be fifty; his work has aged him/ 

^ Yes; and then his life has not been a happy one.^ 

‘We do not know that, Olga/ rather quickly. 

‘Do we not?’ — with a little laugh. ‘Well, I must not 
keep you here talking. I suppose he is coming again to- 
morrow ? ’ 

‘I do not know why you should suppose any such thing; 
but for once you happen to be correct.’ 

‘ It would be very strange if he did not come. He and 
Mr. Basil must want to be together.’ 

‘ Oh yes, of course; ’ 'and then she kissed me affectionately 
and let me go. 

I was glad to be alone with my own thoughts. After all 
these years God had granted me my wish : I had looked in 
the face of Robert Fleming again — the man to whom I had 
plighted my girlish troth, for whose sake I had lived single — 
and the meeting had not disappointed me. I had seen the 
quick fiash of joy in his eyes as he pronounced my name. 
Would he have called me Catherine in that momentary con- 
fusion if the past had been wholly obliterated from his mind ? 
if the girl Catherine had been forgotten ? I held to tjiis 
thread of comfort firmly, when the cold waters of common- 
sense came to damp my enthusiasm. 

Let me confess it : 1 did not long remain happy. Many a 
woman of my age has these sudden chills of introspection and 
retrospection, these dim brooding moods, when we are brought 
face to face with our inner selves, when we look with dreary,, 
pitying eyes on our dead youth, on the hopes that lie in faded 
heaps like autumn leaves. All those years, in which we might 
have been so happy — does not the strain run after that 
fashion ? All those, fresh womanly feelings wasted in wait- 
ing for something that never came — in that wistful watching 
that too often ends in heart-sickness and despair! 

After all, if he had cared for me as I had cared for him, 
would he not have trampled down his pride under foot and 
came back to me— not in my father’s lifetime, perhaps, but 
when his death had set me free ? And— and— I will write it 
here — I had expected him month after month, and yocr after 
year, and he had made no sign ! No ; he had never come back 
to the Catherine he had so tenderly loved, whom, strong man 


^auld lAm 


m 


as lie was, ifc almost broke his heart to give up ! But in my 
inmost -mind I had not been angry with him. It was his 
notion of honor — strained and misplaced, perhaps, but still 
a sense of honor — that had refused to seek out the heiress. 
Most likely he thought himself forgotten. He had not loved 
again, that was certain; and this knowledge, poor and meagre 
as it was, was the abiding sweetness of my life. 

What poor creatures we women are! We can bear disap- 
pointment,' suspense, unhappiness, but we cannot endure that 
one whom we love should forget us. Np; this one thing we 
cannot bear! 

It was some time before I could reason and school myself 
into calmness; as the bitter water’s of the past, tfiat had sub- 
merged all my youthful hopes, seemed to rise again before my 
eyes, a sort of dual voice seemed to oppose vague utterances. 

'After all, you have had a happy life,^ one seemed to say. 

' Many women have to do without love and marriage — it is 
Kismet, Fate, the will of God. You have had your freedom, 
wealth, plenty of work, friends to cheer your leisure.’ 

'Yes, but I have been lonely through it all,’ murmured 
that other unbidden voice. ' I have had n<r strong arm to 
lean upon; all n^y life I have wanted my other self. When 
I have seen wives with their husbands, mothers with their 
children, I have felt my freedom an irksome thing, my wealth 
mere emptiness. The will of God ! Ah, well, you are right. 

It may be so; but I think our heavenly Father knows why 
the eyes of women are so often dim, and their tears do not 
make Him angry.’ 

' Most likely you have cared for Kobert Fleming more than 
he has cared for you,’ went on the voice; 'this reflection 
ought to humiliate you. A little while ago you had settled 
to make him your heir.’ 

'I do not feel humiliated; such a reflection would not 
trouble me for a moment. What does it matter on which 
side the love lies ? He was my master once, and taught me 
all I knew of good; I had no religion until he instilled it; I 
owe my better self to him — to his high-minded example; he 
loved me once : that is sufficient.’ 

' This is 'mere sophistical noiasense. At your age one snould • 
think more wisely.’ 

' It is the truth, and I know no other. As long as Robert 
Fleming lives, the world will be richer to me. I ask nothing 
from him but friendship, esteem, a kindly recollection of the 
past; more would embarrass — would trouble me — would dis- 
turb my sense of fitness. I neither ask nor desire it; but if 


270 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHVRST. 

I could only do him some good, I think I should die happier; ’ 
and with this curious confession of womanly faith I triumphed 
over my dissentient voice. 

I grew quite reasonable at last, and chided myself in earnest 
for the hours I had wasted in fruitless regrets. ‘ Yoii are not 
the only one,^ I said to myself severely, ^ whom Heaven has 
deprived of complete satisfaction in this world. There are 
so many widowed lives — meek, uncomplaining ones — lives so 
patiently borne that even the angels must wonder at them, 
and you — you have had so many blessings; ' and then, touched 
and humbled, I knelt down to say my thanksgiving, and after 
that I slept as sweetly as ever; and when morning came I 
woke quite happily, for was I not going home with Basil ? 
and was that not happiness enough ? besides which — but I 
have written enough on that subject. 

When we meet at breakfast it was Basil who looked as 
though he had not slept. He did not deny the charge. 

' One can^t stand so much excitemen V he said, laughing 
rather nervously. suppose that long talk unsettled me, 
and then I kept thinking about nyr mother. I cannot help 
dreading the meeting. What am I to say to her, and she to 
me, when we are strangers to each other ? ^ and then he broke 
off as Olga came into the room with Keggie, and it seemed a 
relief to him to take the little fellow in his arms. Poor Basil ! 
I could feel for him; it was terribly embarrassing. 

Mr. Fleming came quite early. Basil took Eeggie half 
across the park to meet him, and they all came in together. 
Basil had almost lost that fagged, harassed look. As soon as 
Mr. Fleming had shaken hands with us, Basil accosts me 
eagerly : 

‘Aunt Catherine, such a. capital idea has come into my head : 
why should not Mr. Fleming come doTO with us to Brook- 
field?^ 

‘ To Brookfield ? ^ I faltered. 

‘Yes; it will make things easie" for all of us. I should like 
it. I shall feel more like myself if he is there to back me up; 
and my mother ought to see him, you know.^ 

‘My dear boy, it is you who are master; you may surely 
ask whom you will to your own house.^ 

‘I never thought of thaV with a flush; ‘and I will do 
nothing vathout your permission. Shall he come. Aunt 
Catherine ? ’ • 

‘ If he will be so good,’ I returned, smiling. 

Mr. Fleming had remained silent; but I could see this wish 
on Basil’s part touched him profoundly. 


^WELCOME HOME, MY BEAR^ 


271 


'Will you come, Mr. Fleming?* 

'Go and ask him, Reggie,^ whispered Basil in his boy’s ear; 
and the child, in his ready, sweet obedience, ran up to himi 
Mr. Fleming stooped over him. 

' What is it, my little fellow ? ’ he said gently. 

' Reggie wants you to come, and father, too, and my Dear 

’ looking round for Olga, ' and Aunt Cathie,’ for he could 

not pronounce my name. 

‘ What, all — everybody ? I think I must come, Reggie; 
father’s wishes have always been paramount with me. But 
this young lady,’ looking at Olga with kindly, observant eyes, 
'I think you made a mistake there;’ and then he put down 
the child and walked to the window; and, after a moment’s 
hesitation, Basil followed him, and they talked earnestly to- 
gether; and, though Olga and I could not hear what they 
were saying, there was a pleased look on Mr. Fleming’s face 
— a bright^ happy look that told us volumes. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
'welcome home, my dear.’ 


‘O Lord I my boy, my Arthur, my fair son t 
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world I 
My widow comfort, and my sorrow’s cure.’ 

‘ King John,'' 

‘ O Lord, that lends me life. 

Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness.’ 

Second Part of ‘ Henry IV' 


Just before we started, I found myself alone with Mr. 
Fleming. I had gone upstairs to put on my bonne|;, and on 
my return to the sitting-room I saw him standing at the 
window apparently lost in thought. 

My entrance roused him. As he came toward me, I noticed 
that he looked younger and brighter than he had yesterday. 
His shoulders seemed to have lost their stoop. He seemed 
alert — fuU of animation. 

‘ I am glad to have an opportunity of speaking to you,’ ho 
began quickly. ' I am afraid my boy has been a little impul- 
sive. Are you sure that I shall not be in the way-r-that Mrs. 
Lyndhurst will not think it an intrusion ?’ 

'I can answer for Virginia’s welcome as well as Ay own/ 


272 THE ^EARCli FOR BASIL LYNDHURSf, 


I returned gravely. ^ Mr. Fleming, cannot you understand 
how deeply we are indebted to you ? You hav^/ been our 
benefactor as well as Basil’s. When Virginia learns how all 
these years you have been guarding her treasure, there will 
be no limit to her gratitude.’ 

^ You must not say such things to me. Miss Sefton. It 
troubles me .to hear them. 

^ Then they shall not be said. I would not hurt you for 
the world. Let me tell you .instead how glad I am for Basil’s 
sake that you are with him at this crisis of his life/ 

^ He is very nervous about this meeting with his mother,’ 
he said thoughtfully. ^ He has confessed to me that he dreads 
it beyond everything. It is unfortunate that Mrs. Lyndhurst 
would never consent to be photographed, for he cannot pic- 
ture her in the least. He seemed quite surprised when I told 
him what a handsome girl she used to e.’ 

^ That is because your description does not tally with ours. 
Eight and-twenty years ago, 1 grant you, Virginia was a 
beautiful creature. When you see her, you will not recognize 
her as you recognized me.’ 

^ Is she so changed ? ’ 

^Changed! that is not the word. Strangers have often 
told me that it made their hearts ache only to look at her. 
Her troubles have been too much for her. Her nerves have 
suffered.’ 

^ I understand — Basil told me a great deal last night.’ 

^ He says very little about his mother to me, and I am half 
afraid to question him. I should like to know what he really 
feels about her.’ 

‘ It is difficult to judge,’ he replied after a moment’s hesita- 
tion. ^ He is very guarded. He does not speak openly even 
to me. I can see he feels her desertion of him in his helpless 
infancy very keenly, and yet no word of blame passes his 
lips; but it has chilled him. Ho, you must not grieve,’ as the 
tears rose to my eyes, and he looked at me very kindly. ^ It 
is only natural he should feel it, but we must hope that 
mother and son will soon be drawn together.’ 

^ I think if she fails to win his love, my poor Virginia will 
break her heart. Any coldness on Basil’s part will crush her. 
Mr. Fleming, will you tell him so ? I have gone through so 
much that I feel I can bear no more.’ 

^ I would willingly spare you all pain if I could,’ he returned 
gently; ^but pardon me, I think I understand Basil better 
than you do. We must leave him to himself; he has a good 
heart. We must trust that. Any advice would only embar- 


^WELCOME HOME, MY DT^AIV 


273 


rass him. You saw for yourself last night how hard it is for 
him to take even a word from me. It has always been like 
that — his pride has been his bane."^ 

^He has never been proud with me.' 

‘ That is because you are so gentle with him. . I can see for 
myself how much influence you have with him already. He 
was talking to me about you last night. He thinks there is 
no one like you. You would have been pleased to hear him.^ 
^ Mr. Fleming, will you tell me one thing : Is it your opin- 
ion that Basil is to blame at all with regard to his wife ? ’ 

He looked sorry that I had asked the question. He hesi- 
tated, and seemed unwilling to answer. 

^ You have put a very difficult question. I should have 
liked you to judge for yourself. Basil is very much to be 
pitied. Ho one could deny that he leads a wretched life with 
that poor girl; but it has always been my opinion that he 
might have done more for her in the beginning.^ 

‘ I am afraid he has ceased to love her.^ 

^It was never real love,^ he returned warmly. ^It was just 
a young man^s fancy for a handsome girl that would have 
cooled in a month or two. He very soon grew weary of her. 
A 'woman of her calibre could never hold him long. When I 
first saw her, I knew there would be no happiness for him in 
the future. Poor boy! he needed more than she could give 
him, and yet she loved him with all the strength of her un- 
disciplined nature.^ 

^You think that Aline loves him. Basil assures me that 
she is quite indifferent — that she seldom speaks to him.^ 
^That comes of her sullen temper. She is jealous, too; 
and she knows that she has forfeited all claims to his respect. 
I believe in her way the poor girl suffers terribly. She has 
fits of remorse that are quite distressing to witnass. I believe 
if Basil spoke kindly to her then she would be ready to die 
for him; but he has lost all heart and interest. He tells me 
that he never troubles himself now about her moods.^ 

^Mr. Fleming, you will think me hard, too; but I am afraid 
I take Basil’s part. How is he to bear with such a woman ? ’ 
^You have not seen heiV he answered quickly. ‘I should 
not be surprised if shq interested you in spite of yourself; 
there are possibilities even in her nature, poor thing! She is 
the victim of others’ sins; an hereditary taint is in her 
blood. Her brother knows this, and pities and shields her; 
it is only her husband who has no mercy.’ 

‘ But what would you have him do ? He is going to bring 
her home.’ 

18 


274 THS SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

^ Yes, he will bring her home; but will he be good to her? 
Will he watch over her, and keep the deadly poison away ? 
Will he try to wean her from her fatal habit by surrounding 
her with other influences, and teaching her self-respect ? Will 
he stay with her instead of rushing away to seek distraction 
for himself, and taking his boy with him ? Miss Sefton, you 
must not think me hard; my heart bleeds for him; but right 
is right. Basil has made tliat girl his wife, and he must do 
his duty by her, as other men have done theirs. It is no 
question of love; it is clear, manifest duty. This is what I 
have told him, and he does not contradict me.^ 

^ No, he will not contradict you; but his life will be terribly 
difficult — and he is so young.’ 

^ She is young, too.’ 

^ Yes, I know ;’ and then we could say no more, as we heard 
Basil’s voice outside. 

I was glad to have had even this brief talk. I knew now 
what were Mr. Fleming’s opinions with regard to Aline. In 
some respects they corroborated the impressions I had already 
formed. I felt Basil had not been faultless — his long absences, 
his restless wanderings, his absorption in his boy, had widened 
the breach between husband and wife. Aline had lost all in- 
centive to self-control; she despaired of regaining * Basil’s 
love; most likely she was trying to drown her sense of neg- 
lect and wretchedness ; but, on the other hand, what super- 
human patience was needed to endure the daily companion- 
ship of such a woman! It was easy for a man like Mr. 
Fleming . to preach the duty he so nobly practised of self- 
abnegation ; but for Basil, with his tiensitive nature, his pride, 
his impatient irritp^bly, it was more difficult; and in my 
heart I could not blame him; and he had already suffered so 
much. 

I think but for Mr. Fleming we should nave been a silent 
party; but he helped us all to feel more natural and at our 
ease. Basil’s nervousness seemed to increase as we drew 
toward our journey’s end ; he talked fitfully. As we slackened 
speed, Olga, who had been very quiet, suddenly brightened. 

"Oh, there is Jem!’ she said. "Kollo, look! there is dear 
old Jem! ’ and Kollo whined expectantlv, as though he under- 
stood. 

" Is that your brother ? ’ exclaimed Basil ; " I should like to 
shake hands with him. What a fine-looking fellow I ’ 

But I doubt if Olga heard him, for she was waving and 
kissing her hand to Jem. I smile now when I recall Jem’s 
Jook of astonishment as the two gentlemen followed us out of 


^WELCOME HOME, MY DEAR. 


276 


the carriage. As Basil’s dark face peered over my shoulder, 
I heard Jem whisper in a sort of disgusted aside: 

^ Why, you haven’t brought that fellow Fleming over with 
you, surely ? ’ 

I only hoped it was not audible. Olga hardly knew how to 
answer, so I thought it politic to explain matters. 

^This is my old friend, Mr. Fleming, Jem; but now let me 
introduce you to my nephew, Basil Lyndhurst. Basil, this 
is Miss Leigh’s brother, of whom you Inive heard so much.’ 

Jem’s face was a study as they shook hands rather’ stiffly. 
The whole thing was so droll that Olga and I began to laugh ; 
but this did not mend matters. 

^ I was hot aware you had vl. nephew. Miss Sef ton,’ replied 
Jemj in a dignified manner, and turning very red. (He had 
never called me anything but Aunt Catherine for years.) ^ I 
am very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lyndhurst. 
Olga, I have got a truck for your luggage. I thought you 
would like the walk up to Fircroft.’ 

^Yes, I wdll come, Jem. Dear Aunt Catherine, good-by 
until to-morrow! Give my love to Mrs. Lyndhurst.’ 

^But you will bring Jem with you to-morrow, Olga? I 
want him and Basil to be good friends.’ 

‘1 will bring him if he wilFcome. Good-by, Mr. Basil! 
Good-by, my darling Reggie!’ kneeling on the ground to 
kiss him. 

J em watched these proceedings a little stonily. When she 
had finished, he took off his hat to us all with a grand sweep, 
and dre\y Olga’s hand through his arm, and hurried her away. 
I smiled to myself as I looked after them. Poor Olga! she 
would have some trouble in soothing him. Jem was not one 
to like mysteries; he had been too much taken by surprise, 
and he was ruffled in consequence. Basil made a little speech 
presently that amused me still more. 

^ Mr. Leigh seems rather haughty for such a frank-looking 
fellow. On the whole, he did not seem quite pleased with me.’ 

^You don’t know Jem,’ was my reply; ^he will be quite 
different to-morrow. He thinks Olga ought to have prepared 
hii'^; he hates surprises. Never mind; there is our faithful 
old Jennings with the carriage. You must speak to. him, 
Basil.’ 

Basil’s nervousness seemed to return as he seated himself 
beside me, for Mr. Fleming insisted on taking the opposite 
place. Olga looked up at us as we passed with a tremulous 
little smile, and waved her hand, Jem was still holding her 


276 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


am; he raised his hat stiffly, with the gravity of a young 
judge. Basil looked back at them once or twict.. 

^ There is Fircroft/ I said presently; ^ do you hear the rooks, 
Basil ? Look ! we shall turn into the avenue directly — ^you 
can see the Hall now; and — and— welcome home, my dear!^ 

He pressed my hand, but did not answer; he had grown 
strangely pale, and there was a strained look in his "^yes, as 
though he were expecting to see some one. How grandly the 
rooks were cawing over our heads — as though they were 
greeting the long-lost heir ! I doubt whether Basil even heard 
them, any more than he noticed the flecks of golden sunshine 
on the grejn turf, or the play of light and shadow in the 
branches of the elms. My dear old home! How lovely it 
looked that September afternoon! My eyes were misty with 
unshed tears; a flood of gratitude^ was in my heart. Oh, how 
good Providence had been to us! I looked at Mr. Fleming; 
his grave answering glance, so full of unspoken sympathy, of 
complete understanding, satisfied me. I was not the only one 
to rejoice that day! 

The Hall door was wide open; 1 could see Bonnet’s white 
head, with our old housekeeper, Mrs. Larkins, behind him. 
As the carriage stcmped, and Eeynolds sprang from the box 
to open the door, I saw Marsden cross the hall hurriedly as 
though in search of her mistress. 

I took Basil’s hand as we stood together on the threshold; 
he had a dazed look, as though he were in a dream; he ac- 
knowledged the servants’ respectful greeting ali-^ost mechani- 
cally. 

^ Mrs. Lyndhurst is in the drawing-room, ma’am,’ Bennet 
said in my ear ; and I put my hand on Basil’s arm to rouse 
him. 

^Come, my dear, come! We must not keep your mother 
waiting; she is an invalid, remember;’ and I drew him on. 

Once he stumbled slightly; the hall was dark after the 
sunshinje outside, and the oak floor slippery to unused foot- 
steps. I felt him draw his breath hard as Bennet opened the 
drawing-room door. And then for the moment .1 thought I 
was dreaming, too; for the Virginia who stood in the middle 
of the room to receive us was not the Virginia I had left— 
who had lived with me all these years. For a second I did 
not recognize her. 

The frail graceful figure that seemed always bowed by 
some mysterious weakness was erect and tall; in place of the 
straight black folds of her widow-like stuff dress, she wore 
black Yelvet^ and that in spite of the summer warmth. A 


^WELCOME HOME, MY DEAR,’* 


277 


Tittle Tiead-dress of costly lace just shaded the silvery hair, 
and as I crossed the room I could see she had a diamond 
ornament at her throat, and that her hands were blazing with 
diamond rings — Virginia, who had not worn jewels for five- 
and-twenty years ! But how deathly was the marble paleness 
of her face as she stretched out her hands tremblingly to her 
boy. 

^ My son — my own son ! ^ 

^ Mother ! ^ 

Just that one word, uttered under his breath, as though 
that low passionate utterance compelled response and recog- 
nition ; and as she looked up in his face with those pleading 
eyes, he stooped and kissed her quietly, reverently on the 
check. He told me afterwards that the touch of that cold 
thin cheek gave him a sort of shock. As for Virginia, that 
timid, quiet caress from the full-grown man, who was her son 
and yet a stranger, seemed to unseal the pent-up emotion; 
she trembled so violently thaLI thought she would have fallen, 

ound her and drew her to a 



^ You are very kind,^ she gasped. ^ Will you sit down beside 
me? you are so tall^ — trying to smile — ‘and I — I want to 
see my son.^ 

He obeyed her at once, but He seemed nervous and embar- 
rassed under that long fixed look. As for me, I knew what it 
meant; the mother’s eyes were seeking some resemblance she 
feared to see. Oh, she had found it I 

^ Catherine ! ’ How well I knew that sharp thinness of voice ! 
* Catherine, he is like Paul ! It is Paul’s mouth — his hand- 
some mouth — and he has his father’s chin. Yqu told me in 
your letter that there was no likeness: you are wrong; and, 
look, he has Paul’s hand ! — I should have known that hand 
anywhere ! ’ 

^ What does it matter ? ’ I returned, somewhat alarmed at 
this ; ^ Basil does not take after his father in anything else.’ 

No’ — after a moment’s hesitation — ^and, after all, I am 
glad that it should be so; it makes him still more my son. I 
can see the likeness for myself. Basil ’ — how softly and ten- 
derly she pronounced his name! — ^you must not mind any- 
thing I have said. I have suffered so much; and all these 
years, these long, cruel years, I have been childless.’ 

^ Yes, I know;’ but he did not look at her as he spoke. 

I could see his position tried him terribly-^that he did not 
knov^r what to say to her. Whose fault was it that he had 
been a stranger to his home all those years ? that he liad been 


278 THE SEARCH FOR RAJSIL LYHEHURST] 


forsaken in his helpless infancy and cast upon the compassidH 
of strangers ? Could he tell her so ? But the thought would 
not be banished; it kept him silent. 

An agonized expression crossed Tirginia’s face, as though 
she read his silence truly. 

^ Catherine, do you see ? he has nothing to say to me ! My 
son turns from me — from me, his mother ! He has hardened 
his h'jart against me because of that past sin of mine ! He 
has judged me already ; and I— what shall I do ? ^ 

She wrung her hands, and it was pitiful to see her poor 
quivering face. It was too much for Basil; he started up, 
and began pacing the room. It was some minutes before he 
could calm himself sufficiently to speak to her, and all the 
time she sat, poor soul! watching him, and sighing as though 
her heart would break. Presently he came back to us.^ 

^ Mother,^ he said almost harshly, but I saw he had some 
difficulty in keeping himself in hand, ^you ought not to have 
said that — that should never have been mentioned between 
you and me. What is past is past. You are wrong; your 
son does not judge his mother; he has too many sins of his 
own.^ 

He sank down on the couch beside her and covered his face 
with his hands; his strong young frame seemed shaking with 
emotion. 

‘ Virginia,^ I said gently, ^ Basil is right; you ought not to 
have spoken to him in that way. He does not wish to re- 
member the past; you must never recall it to him. It is a 
new life that is beginning for you both to-day — a new and 
ier life.^ 



^ Is it ? ^ she returned softly, and she laid her hand on his 
arm. She was his mother, but she dare not venture on a 
closer caress. ^ Yes, I know; for this my son was dead, and 
is alive again ; he was lost, and is found.^ 


We grew calmer by degrees. Basil was the first to recover 
himself. I saw by his manner that he was anxious to efface 
the impression from Virginians mind, to place things on a 
more natural footing. She had entreated him with tears to 
forgive her, and his answer had soothed her. 

^ It is not for a parent to ask forgiveness of a child,^ he had 
said. ^ My father^s sins have been so great that I wonder you 
do not hate me for my likeness to him. Do not let there bo 
any such questions between us.^ 

^ Then you do forgive me, Basil ? ^ 

^ V/hat ! again, mother ? And, after all, I have no right; 


^WELCOME HOME, MY DEAR: 


279 


but, if you will have it, I freely f >)rgive you. Now that is 
finished, and we will never refer to it again. And I want you 
to see my boy; you have two children, you know!^ 

f Your boy!^ and her manner was a little bewildered. 

Had she forgotten all 1 had told her in my letter of Basils 
unhappy marriage ? 

^ Yes — Eeggie. Will you fetch him, Aunt Catherine ? Do 
you mind ? I do not know my way about tixO house; ^ and I 
went willingly. 

It was some mim tes before I returned to the room; I 
thought it was better to leave them together* On our way * 
through the hall I endeavored to Impress on Keggie^s mind 
that he was going to see his grandmother. 7 wanted him to 
say the word after me, but he refused. 

^ Too long,^ he said, shaking his head; ^ Eeggie don^t like it ! ^ 

T am afraid we had all spoiled him, and indulged his child- 
ish whims. He was dressed in his white sailor^s suit, and, in 
spite of the Ibss of his hair, he looked so delicately pretty that 
I knew how Virginia jvould admire him. His erect little 
figure was so trim and graceful; he carried his head with such 
dignity, and he was such a friendly, loving little creature. 

He marched up straight to his fathenand stood beside him, 
looking with childish curiosity at Virginians pale face. 

‘ Is that lady Eeggie^s Gran ? ’ he asked at last. 

^ Yes, dear. Will you give her a kiss ? ^ 

It was evident Eeggie did not relish the idea of the kiss; 
but he was accustomed to obey his fatheris slightest word, so 
he put up his face at once. 

^How do you do, GranP^ he said gravely; and Virginia 
caught him in her arms and burst into tears. 

Eeggie regarded her with astonished eyes. 

^ Has any one been naughty, father ? ^ he asked in great 
perplexity. ^ Why does Gran cry ? ^ 

‘Let me cry, darling; it does me good. Oh, Cathy, Cathy I 
look at this dear little face, and think — think of that little 
child I never saw — that lonely little child who never knew his 
mother in and for a little while she sobbed bitterly, and 
refused to be comforted. 

Eeggie looked so frightened that Basil took him on his 
knee, and after a time we were obliged to send him away. 
Virginia was becoming hysterical; her frail form could ill 
support her overcharged feelings. It was Basil who proposed 
sending for Mr. Fleming — I had not once thought of him. 1 
was a Httle dubious as to the result, but, as it proved, Basil 
was right. 


280 THE HE ARCH FOR RAHIL LYNDHURHT. 


, He had been accustomed to all forms of mental distress; 
tijs very first words as he took her hand seemed to sooth 
ber. 

All this has been too much for you/ he said gently. ^ You 
have no strength left to thank God for the great blessing He 
has vouchsafed you to-day. Miss Sefton, I think you must 
give your sister some wine, and then she will feel better; * and 
without heeding her wild sobs he said a few grave, strong 
words that seemed to lift her out of her self-abasement and 
place her on a higher level. 

It was wonderful to h^ xr him talk He seemed to under- 
stand just how she felt. 

^ Basil/ he said, turning to him by-and-by, ‘ you have a grand 
task befere you : you have to compensate your mother for all 
her past unhappiness; you have to win her love and confi- 
dence.^ 

^ The lov^ is won already,^ she returned, with a wan smile. 

^So much the better/ he returned heartily. ‘But, Mrs. 
Lyndhurst, your son needs something more than love at your 
hand — he will want real nelp and .sympathy. He has told 
you about his wife ? ^ 

‘ No/ she said timidly. ‘ There has been no time, and I 
have troubled him so; but Catherine said something in her 
letter. You are not happy, Basil 

‘ No, mother, I am not happy. Aline is a great trouble to 
me.’ 

‘ Aline — is that your wife’s name ? My dear, you must tell 
me everything, and I will help you, We^ill both help him 
— will we not, Catherine ? There is nothing — nothing we 
will not do. You shall not be unhappy, my son, if your 
mother can prevent it. There will be no sacrifice too great— 
you may be sure of that.’ 

‘Will you do something for me now, mother?’ taking her 
hand. 

It was pathetic to see how she brightened every time he 
said that word ; she looked at him with unutterable tenderness 
as he spoke. 

‘Yes, surely, Basil.’ 

‘ Will you go and rest now ? It hurts me to see you look so 
frightfully pale. You are ill, though you do not say so. 1 
should be happier in my mind if you would rest.’ 

‘ I will go, then/ rising at once. Cathy, will you come to 
me presently ? — not now; I must be alone a little. Thank 
you^ my dear/ as Basil gave her his arm, and led her to tho 


^fiubjyds for life: 


281 


I did not hear what she said to him, but there were a lew 
words on her part, and then lie stooped over her again and 
kissed her. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

^FRIENDS FOR LIFE.^ 

Who reverenced his conscience as his being.’ 

Tennyson. 

* Those friends thou liast, and their adoption tried, 

Grapple them to thy soul vvitli lioops of steel.’ 

‘ Hamlet: 

I was perfectly aware of the reason that made Mr. Fleming 
remember suddenly that he had an important letter to write 
before the evening post. Like Olga, he knew when to efface 
himself; some unerring intuition told him that I should prefer 
to be alone with Basil. The moment the door closed after 
him, I went up to Basil and took his two hands. 

‘ Well, my dear ?' 

He looked at me with an expression that was difficult to 
define — a curious mingling of pleasure and sadness. 

^Aunt Catherine,’ he said slowly, ‘I am glad my mother is 
like that.^ 

^ Oh, Basil! Really and truly? Then you are not disap- 
pointed in her ? ’ 

^ Ho ’ — urawing a long breath — ^ but you must not question 
me too closely; you must give me time. Do you not see ’ — 
very gravely — ^ what a trial this has been to both of us — to 
her as well as to me ? One hardly dared to speak for fear of 
wounding the other; there was a barrier across which we 
seemed to look at each other. Thank God it is over — that I 
shall never have to live through such an hour again ! ’ 

^ Dear Basil, I quite understand how you felt.’ 

^ I think when it came to the point that I would rather 
have walked up to the cannon’s mouth than have entered that 
room. All these days I have been saying to myself, “ If I 
should be disappointed in my mother 1 ” I was growing quite 
morbid over the idea.’ 

^ Very few men have to pass through such an ordeal; but 
:.t has ended well.’ 

^ Yes, it has ended well ; no one could have been kinder. 


282 THE SEARCH FOR BASH LYNDHURST. 

Do you know, Aunt Catherine, I was glad in my heart when 
she spoke of my likeness to my father; it seemed somehow 
more satisfactory ; but I would rather have resembled my 
mother/ 

^ I am so pleased to hear you say that/ 

‘Why, she is lovely!* he rvUurned quickly. ‘When she 
spoke, something in her voice reminded me of you ; but you 
are not really alike/ 

‘ Not in the least/ 

‘ No, there could not be two sisters more unlike each other. 
I can understand now v^hat Mr. Fleming told me about her 
beauty — she is very sweet looking; but of course one can see 
what her life has been; there is one thing I am sure that 
she needs : a son to take care of he?.’ 

. ‘ My dear, it makes me so happy to hear you talk in this 

way! I was so afraid ’ but something in his look warned 

me not to say any more. 

‘I know what you were going to say,’ he returned; ‘but 
that is a forbidden subject; for heaven’s sake. Aunt Cather- 
ine, let the dead past bury its dead. Why should we try 
disinter the ghastly thing r That is the worst of women, they 
are so fond of moral dissection ; even a good woman knows 
the use of a scalpel.’ 

‘You are very hard on us,’ pretending to look offended; 
but he was too much in earnest to heed nie. 

‘Men are more generous; when they forgive, they forgive 
thoroughly, and with no arriere-pensee ; that is how I feel 
about things. We must wipe out the past; there must be no 
allusion to it— no painful remembrance: this is what I feel 
strongly. Do you not see how much need I have to forget ? 
If I had lived here under my mother’s roof, I should never 
have met Aline. I — I dare not think of it; ’ there was a 
cloud upon his face as he spoke — a concentrated bitterness in 
his voice; then he recovered himself: ‘ For pity’s sake let me 
keep that thought away; it would madden me to think of 
what might have been. Aunt Catherine,’ looking at me wist- 
fully, ‘ I want to be a better sort of fellow; I want to do my 
duty, and not to think of my own happiness. You must help 
me with Aline. You must keep me up to things; neither 
she nor I must disgrace my mother, who has suffered so much 
all her life.’ 

I was so touched that I could hot' answer him; if only Mr. 
Fleming had heard him! 

‘Do not let us talk any more,’ he said presently; ‘all this 
has taken it out of me; I feel dead tired, as though I had 


^FRIENDS FOR LIFE: 28 ^ 

walked twenty miles. Will you come out in the garden? a 
little fresh air will do me good; do you mind ? ^ 

As though I minded anything! He opened the glass-door, 
and we stepped out on the lawn. I showed him everything; 
the Lady’s Walk, and my favorite Elizabethan garden, with 
the sun-dial and peacocks. He wanted to fetch Reggie at once 
to see them; but I told him the child would be having his 
tea in the nursery, and begged him not to disturb him. I 
could see Reggie was in his thoughts perpetually. 

^ Fancy the little chap chasing butterflies over that lawn 1 ^ 
he said once, ^ and how pleased he will be with the honey- 
suckle arbor! He must have a garden of his own — that little 
bed we passed just now. And he will take up his flowers to 
see how they grow! and he will water them six times a day 
out of his new watering-pot; can’t you fancy him doing it 
Then, by-and-by:, f That was a velvet dress my mother wore, 
was it not ? I always had a fancy for velvet. Don’t you 
think Reg might have a velvet suit with a lace collar ? he 
would look like a picture! I saw a little boy once dressed 
like that, and it struck me .then how it would suit Reggie.’ 

^Oh yes, he would look lovely,’ and, just to huinor him, I 
discussed the rival merits of ruby and dark-blue velvet. I 
saw that he was trying to fling off his grave mood. When 
we had explored the garden, and I wanted him to come in 
and see the house, he shook his head. 

' I could not take in any more to-day,’ he said wearily, ^ and 
it is so delicious out here! Let us take a turn in the avenue 
and listen to those black-coated fellows. Hark! what is that ?’ 
as the sudden pealing of bells broke on our ears. 

^It is Mr. Leigh’s thoughtfulness,’ I cried breathlessly. 
^ Olga had told him, and he has just got the ringers together.’ 

‘ Do you mean it is for me ? ’ lookii^ quite scared. 

^ Yes, dear; it is in your honor. It as a welcome to the 
heir — ^the young squire of Brookfield. If they had known, 
Basil — if we had given them time — all your tenants would have 
been at the station to receive you. There would have been 
triumphal arches and flags; the Oddfellows, with their band; 
and the vicar— at least, the curate-in-charge — would have 
made you a speech.’ 

^Oh, Heaven forbid!’ he returned, quite shocked at the 
idea. ‘ I could not have undergone it.’ 

I could not help laughing at his evident discomposure. 
With all his pride, he had not a spark of vanity; there was 
nothing little in his nature; his faults were big glaring faults, 
but there was no meanness. 


284 THE BE ARCH FOR BABIL LYNBHURBT. 

^All the same, they will feel we have cheated them* We 
must have a supper and a dance for the tenants later on. 
You mu/ ti not shrink from your responsibilities/ 

^ No/ lie said softly; must face everything. How pleased 
Heggie will be with those bells ! ^ 

We were standing in the avenue. I do not know what im- 
pulse moved Basil to take off his hat and stand bareheaded 
and silent. There was a grave, reverent look on his face. 
‘ Please God ! ^ I heard him say, as though speaking to him- 
self. My ^Amen ’ was inaudible. 

I was obliged to leave him at last, and go up to Virginia. 
A^ I passed the library, Mr. Fleming came out. The library 
window commanded a view of the avenue — perhaps he had 
been watching us. 

^ Well/ he said, looking at me with smile, 'is the Squire 
pleased with his ovation ? ^ 

' He seems rather upset by it all. I cannot get him to look 
over the house, or to pay attention to anything. We must 
leave him quiet for this one day/ 

' His cup is filled to the brim — very little would make it 
overflow. You are right; we must leave him to get used to 
his position. I will go out to him, and tell him some Leeds 
news — any trivialty that comes into my head.^ 

‘ I have been talking to him about Reggie^s frocks.^ He 
laughed at that, and we parted. 

i found Virginia lying back on her easy chair, with her 
eyes closed, as though she, too, were listening to the bells. 
She seemed utterly exhausted, and there was a dark look 
round her mouth; but when she opened her eyes I almost 
started. In place of their wild, haunted look they had the 
happy restful ness of a child. 

' Cathy, dear Cathy ! do you hear the bells ? They are 
ringing in BasiPs honor — ^to welcome my hoy to his home. 
Good Mr. Leigh! I must thank him for this.' 

' You are happy, Virginia ? ' I asked softly, as I krelt down 
beside her, and looked into her sweet pallid face. 

'Happy! I am suffocated with happiness!' putting hex 
hands to her breast. 'Do you know how I felt when 1 , 
kissed me — the first kiss I have ever had from my child ? As 
though I could die with joy! And when he told me to go 
and rest I felt then that I had a son.' 

' He will be everything to you.' 

' He is nobleness itself. There was not a word of reproach, 
and yet he owes all his unhappiness to his mother. Did you 


^FRIEirm FOR LIFE.^ 285 

gee how his face changed when he spoke of his wife ? He is 
terribly unhappy/ 

^ I fear he is/ 

do more than fear it; lam sure of it. There are lines 
in his face that tell their own story. Cathy, I must confess 
something: There was one moment when I shrank from him 
— from my own boy — and that was when I saw his likeness to 
Paul.^ 

^ I am afraid he noticed it/ 

^ He shall never notice it again ; but for the moment it was 
so strong. There was the beautiful mouth and chin. Paul’s 
were modelled like a Greek god's. I shut my eyes for an in- 
stant, and when I looked again it was still there — the likeness 
— only the expression was different ; there was no cruel sneer 
on Basil’s lips.’ 

"Ho, indeed!’ 

"I am glad he is not handsome; there was something dia- 
bolical iu Paul’s beauty. But his hand I — there again I had a 
fresh pang. Do you remember Paul’s white, muscular hand 
and filbert-shaped nails ? But, of course, you saw him so 
little. Basil has his father’s hand.’ 

"You should not mind these things, Virginia/ 

"I do not! I do not! but for the moment I was overcome. 
He is a grander man than Paul; and he carries his head like 
a king. To think my little child has grown into that ! All 
this time I have been trying to thank God ; but my heart is 
too full for words.’ 

‘ There are no words needed.’ 

" No; I just knelt upon the ground, and said nothing. But 
I think I never prayed so welL Cathy, I cannot be surprised 
at anything to-day, or I think Mr. Fleming would have sur- 
prised me.’ 

" Did you recognize him, Vi ? ’ — my old girlish name for her. 

" Not in the least; but when you mentioned his name I said 
to myself: This is Catherine’s Mr. Fleming. How gray he 
lias grown ! ’ looking at me a little curiously; " but he is better 
looking now than he used to be.’ 

" I never thought of his looks.’ 

" I dare say not. How fond you were of each other in thoso 
old days! Ah, my poor father was cruel about that! You 
were never the same girl after Robert Fleming went away. I 
think no parent has a right to come between two people v/ho 
love each other.’ 

"Perhaps not. I am of your opinion, Virginia; but, if you 
please, we will not talk of that old, old story. When you see 


286 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


him again you must talk to him about Basil. H6 is his boy 
as well as yours/ 

‘ Yes, I know; ^ but I could see my words pained her. She 
would be very jealous of her son’s love for others, I knew. 1 
think this made her a little cold in her praises of Mr. Flem* 
ing. ^ But he is a good man, and we owe him a debt of grati 
tude,’ she finished. ^ You must not let me be selfish, Cathy 
— if I could only overcome this jealousy ! — but I cannot bear 
to think that he took my place all those years.’ 

Poor Virginia! After all, it was not pure unalloyed happi- 
ness. The maternal instinct that had so long been starved 
and thwarted had to battle fiercely for its rights. Alas ! who 
could give her back those lost years ? After all, Basil was 
right when he decided that the past must be consigned to 
oblivion : to her dying day the mother’s heart would cry out 
for the little child she had never seen. 1 tried to persuade 
Virginia to remain quietly in her room that evening, but 
neither Marsden nor I could induce her to listen ^o reason. 
Her son should not take his place at the head of the table 
unless she were there to see it. I sent for Basil at last, and 
at his first word she yielded, 

‘ Mother,’ he said almost abntptly, ‘ it would be impossible 
for me to eat my dinner if I saw you sitting at the table and 
looking ready to faint. If you will stay here quietly I will 
come up and talk to you afterwards.’ 

^ But you will take your proper place, Basil ?’ 

‘ Not to-night. I shall sit by Aunt Catherine. Why do v/e 
need this stiff formal dinner ? I shall shock your servants : 
I have no dress clothes. I ordered them this morning; but I 
have only my morning coat.’ 

‘ Bennet will understand. He is such an old servant. Cath- 
erine, remember to-morrow that my son is to be -consulted at 
what hour he wishes to dine! ’ 

‘ My dear mother ’ in a protesting voice. 

^You are* master here, Basil. No one shall question your 
authority. Neither Catherine nor I will obtrude ourselves, 
my dear,’ taking his hand timidly. ‘ Everything shall be as 
you wish it.’ 

^ Your wishes will be mine, mother.’ 

- ^ Let us go now, Virginia, and Basil shall come to you by- 
and-by. He has eaten nothing since he has entered the 
house; ’ and then she said no more. 

I was anxious to get him awa 3 \ He was looking nervous 
and uncomfortable again. I knew it pained him to see his 
mother so humble and submissive. It seemed to put them 


^ FRIENDS FOR LIFE: 287 

both in a false position. He spoke out this thought as soon 
as the door closed behind us. 

^Aunt Catherine, you must give my mother a hint. I do 
not mean to put Aline in her place or yours. We are circum- 
stanced strangely. It is not easy to define things. I v/iU 
take my place, but Aline is not fit for hers. You will be just 
as much mistress here as ever. I don^t fancy. my mother 
comprehends the situation.' 

^ Perhaps not-^nor, in truth, do 1. 

^ Things will shape themselves,' he returned in a melan- 
pholy voice, and then we entered the dining-room. 

I saw a look of surprise flit over Bennet's face as Basil took 
the chair beside me, and Mr. Fleming seated himself opposite 
to him. As Keyiiolds handed the soup, I saw Basil look 
round the room at the carved antique furniture, the heavily- 
framed family portraits, the massive flagons and drinking-cops 
on the sideboard.. The bells were still pealing, the rooks were 
cawing over the tree-tops, the room was sweet with roses and 
heliotrope, a great marble basket of hot-house flowers was in 
the centre of the t^ble. I wonder why Basil looked at it all 
so gravely ? Was he thinking of the bare pavilion ? Of the 
cottage-room at Ilighgate ? Of those midnight wanderings 
in Holloway ? Of the parlor behind the shop ? And now of 
the goodly heritage that was his ? As I looked at him qucc- 
tioningly, a flash of his eyes answered me, and then I knew I 
was right. 

As soon as coffee Jiad been served, Basil went up to his 
mother's room, and I accompanied him to look at Eeggio, 
who was sleeping in his father's room. I found he had taken 
the cat to bed with him — a large snow-white Persian, who 
went by the name of Peter. They both looked so comfortable 
that I had not the heart to disturb them. 

The summer twilight had closed in, and on my return to 
the drawing-room I found that Reynolds had already lighted 
the hanging-lamp, and the soft, warm . light just irradiated 
the centre of the room. Mr. Fleming was standing under it 
with a book in his hand. At that moment I was conscious of 
a strange shock, a curious revulsion of feeling; a scene out 
of the long-closed past started up before me. Eight-and- 
twenty years ago he had stood just in that spot, when they 
had sent me in to bid him farewell! The swinging lamp, 
with its pink shade, was casting just the same glow over him, 
only it was early spring, and tlie room was full of warm fire- 
light. Should I ever forget that evening ? and how, when 


288 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURST. 


that miserable interview was over, he put me from him when, 
in my girlish passion, I would have clung to him ? 

^ It is the will of God, Catherine,^ he said gently, and then 
he left me. 

As these thoughts flashed through my mind, Mr. Fleming 
raised his eyes and 'looked at me fixedly. I knew then the 
same recollection had occurred to him. He placed a chair 
for me, and stood beside me a moment. 

‘ I can read your thoughts,^ he said very quietly. ^ You 
are remembering what neither of us can ever forget. It is 
better to speak of it frankly — it is useless to try and ignore 
it. Yes, it was here, in this room, that I passed the. bitterest 
moments of my life. AVhen I closed that door behind me I 
knew I was closing it on my hopes of earthly happiness.^ 

I could not control my voice sufficiently to answer him. 
He was standing just behind me, and it seemed to me as 
though it were the young Kobert Fleming who was speaking. 

^ It took all my strength to give you up. I remember you 
made it very hard for me to leave you. Ah, well ! we are 
middle-aged people now; we can bear to look back on the 
past pain. Time is a marvellous healer — is it not, Cather- 
ine?^ 

^ Why have you never come to see me ? ^ That question 
would rise to my lips in spite of myself. ^All these years 
your old friend has been forgotten.^ 

^ You do not believe what you say,^ he returned calmly, as 
he took the seat beside me. ^ You have never been forgotten 
by me. Ho, I have not come — that is true; I had my reasons. 
But, all the same, I have seen you from time to time; I have 
assured myself that you were well and happy.^ 

^ Mr. Fleming ! what can you mean ? ^ 

^Forgive me if I do not answer you; a man must keep his 
own counsel sometimes. I have not seen you for years; the 
last time, I think, it was at St. Mark^s.^ 

^ You .knew me! you recognized me!^ but I was too much 
abashed to say any more. I felt myself, blush like a girl — I, 
the middle-aged woman! 

^I should know you anywhere;^ and there was unmistaka- 
ble tenderness in his voice: ^ I preached well that night; I 
felt inspired, lifted out of myself, to know you were there 
listening to me. I wanted to speak to you, to tell you how 
grateful I was, but when I came into the church you had 
gone.^ 

^You could not be sure it was 1 / I stammered. ^I had a 
thick veil/ 


^FRIENDS FOR LIFE: 289 

^ If I had needed proof, ic was given me. Do you remember 
this?^ 

He took out of his pocket a tiny prayer-book that looked 
very much the worse for wear; it was bound in Russian 
leather, and on the fly-leaf was written ‘ Catherine Sefton.^ 

^ Why did you keep this ? ^ I asked, as he took it out of my 
hand. 

' Could I embarrass you by returning it ? ^ was the answer; 
but I knew he was not telling me the real reason. I saw that 
by the conscious look on his face. ' I have had it so long that 
I may as well keep it;’ and he put it baek in his oocket with 
a fine air of indifference. 

‘ Your visit cheered me immensely,’ he went on ^ I knew 
then that I had a friend and well-wislier as well as St. Mark’s; ’ 
and as I started and again a painful flush suffused my face, 
he said very earnestly : ^ Do you think I did not recognize our 
Lady Bountiful ? — that I did not bless you in my heart as I 
expended those generous sums of money ? If you only knew 
what a happiness it has been to act as your almoner! I felt 
then as though you and I were still working together.’ 

You and I! Oh, how cautious he was ! But he had called 
me Catherine once. 

‘ But, all the same, you never cared to come and see me.’ 

^ I thought it better not ’ — in a low voice. ‘ Sometimes I 
used to wonder that you never married. Do you know you 
have refused a friend of mine-*-Beauchamp ? , But he com- 
forted himself by taking a wife some ten years ago. I re- 
member his Ci^ming to me, and telling me of his disappoint- 
ment. Ho was a capital fellow.’ 

^ You have not married, either.’ 

^ I have neve? cared to do so ; ’ but I fancy he looked re- 
proachfully at me, as though I might have left that unsaid. 
*1 had Basil, you see; I made him my chief interest in life.’ 

^ You must have been loneW when he left you.’ 

^ Yes, I was pretty lonely; 1 had got so used to him, I could 
tell the lad anythi *g. It was a bad business for me when hli 
wife manifested that strange jealousy of his friends — it sepa- 
rated us entirely : Basil begged me to keep aw^ay. If I had 
had any idea of the real cause of his misery I would not have 
obeyed him, but I never knew until a few weeks ago.’ 

^ It was wrong of Basil not to tell you.’ 

''He could not bear for me to know; but of course, it was a 
mistake. Never mind, I am not his only friend now: he has 
you and his mother to stand by him.’ 

We talked a little more on this subject— about Basil’s 
19 


290 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYIWHURST, 


meeting with his mother. Ho wanted to hear all about it; 
and v/hen I had satisfied him, he said quietly .*• 

‘ Never mind Basil now; you have told me all I wished to 
know; I shall hear the rest from himself. I wanted to know 
something on another subject. Will you tell me about your- 
self, and your sister, and the life you have led all these years ? 
You do not know how much it will interest me.' 

This was said so simply and kindly, and with such an air of 
friendliness, that my troubled consciousness was soothed at 
once. The next minute I found myself talking to him as 
though he were my brother; and there was so much to tell — ^ 
the tragedy of Virginia’s home-coming — her despair and re- 
morse — my father’s death — and our solitary life in the old 
Hall. I described Virginia’s strange seclusion — ^her morbid 
fits — the grief that threatened to prey upon her life. He 
looked at me anxiously. 

‘1 had no idea of this — at least, I had not realized it; it 
must have tried you sadly — such a life ! ’ 

‘ I would not let it try me,’ I returned quickly, for I did 
not wish him to pi.y me too much. It had been in his power 
to help me, and his foolish man’s pride had kept him away. 
After all, men, even the best of them, are such cowards. ‘ I 
had plenty of work; I had Basil’s property to manage; I 
became a woman of business; sometimes I went into so- 
ciety; now and then I entertained at the Hall — but that was 
dreary work witho.it Virginia. By-and-by I had Olga to 
help me; I never felt- dull when that dear child was with 
me.’ 

^ Olga ? — that is the young lady with the pretty voice. Yes, 
I liked the look of her; she has a sweet face.’ 

^ Her nature is sweeter still; every one loves Olga; ’ and then 
I stopped, for at that moment Basil came into the room. 

He looked surprised to see me there. 

‘It is very late> I thought you would have retired long ago, 
Aunt Catherine. I was obliged to remind my mother of the 
time. AYhat a long day it has been!’ rather wearily. ‘I 
think I must bid you good -night now,’ 

‘You are very tired, Basil!’ 

He gave me a queer glance. 

‘ I think this day has been three days rolled in one — it has 
seemed endless. I suppose if we measured tinie by our feel- 
ings, I should have lived a month since I got up this morn- 
ing. Good-night, Aunt Catherine;’ and then, for the first, 
time, he kissed me — he seemed to do it naturally. 

‘Poor lad! he is quite worn out,’ observed Mr, Fleming., 


^THEY ASKED FOR THE SQUIRE: 


291 


^People wlio do not know Basil would not give him credit for 
such deep feelings; but you and- 1 know him better/ ’ 

^ Yes, indeed. Good-night, Mr. Fleming/ 

'Good-night' — and, detaining me a moment: .'Thank you 
for all you have told me this evening; after all, we are old 
friends, Catherine.' 

' I hope so.' . 

'And friends for life, too. Some folks think very lightly 
of friendship; but you and 1 are different sort of people. All 
these years I have called you my friend.' 

'I am glad of that,' I returned soberly. 

When I entered my room, with the candle still in my hand, 
I walked up to the pier-glass and gravely regarded myself 
from head to foot. 

What did I see ? A quiet, well-preserved gentlewoman, in 
a gray satin dress, with a figure that had not yet lost its girl- 
ish roundness, and brown hair, with here and there a thread 
of shining silver. 

'So this is Robert Fleming's friend,' I said to myself — 'his 
friend for life.' 

But as I looked a sudden mist seemed to obscure the view; 
and as I turned away a great cloud of sadness seemed to en- 
velop me, for I knew that I could not strip myself of my 
riches, and that they, and they alone, divided me from the 
tenderest and most faithful heart that ever beat in this world ! 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

^THEY ASKED FOR THE SqUIRE/ 

‘ You are shy-and proud, like Englishmen.’ 

TENifYSO::T, 

’ * God’s goodness has been great to thee ; 

Let never day nor night unballow’d pass, 

But still remember what the Lord hath done.’ 

Second Part of ‘ Henry Vlf 

Just then there was a knock at the door, and Marsden en- 
tered; the honest creature had come to unburthen her heart 
of a little of its gladness. She was warmly attached to her 
mistress; with the exception of myself, no one understood 
Virginia so well. I used to marvel at her patience when 


292 the search for basil lyndhurst. 


Virginia was in one of her trying moods. ^This is a happy 
day, ma^am,^ she began; never thought to see my mistress 
look as she does to-day. I could cry as I think of it, and of 
our fine young Squire who has come to his own.^ 

^ I was sure of your sympathy with us, Marsden. I have 
been talking to Mrs. Larkins and Bennet, and they both say 
how pleased all the servants seem with the look of their new 
master. * My sister has reason to be, proud of such a son/ 

^ Oh, poor thing! and she is proud 1 She will just lie awake 
until morning thinking of him, and how he is sleeping under 
her roof to-night. It has been a trial for him, poor young 
gentleman I I will not d^ny that, meeting his mother for the 
first time as a full-grown man; but no one could have be- 
haved better. He has been goodness itself to me — that 
was what she said to me just now.^ 

‘ Marsden I want to ask you something, and there has been 
no opportunity. How did my sister take the news ? ^ 

^ Do you mean when your letter came, ma^am, two days ago ? 
Well, I was in my mistresses room, just attending to the 
fiowers. I had given her the letter, and was thinking no 
more about it, when she suddenly called out, and I thought 
she was going to faint. One hears sometimes of folks who 
have died from a sudden joy that was too much for them, and 
I seemed to understand it when I looked at my mistress’s 
white face.^ 

‘ Oh no ! ^ I exclaimed, shocked at the bare idea; ^ I had pre- 
pared her so carefully in the previous letter.^ 

^ All the same, it was too much for her. She seemed as 
though she were paralyzed at first; her pocr hands shook so 
she could not hold the paper. I had to read the letter to her 
from beginning to end, and when I had finished she made me 
begin all over again; it did not seem as though she could take 
it in/ 

^ I wished afterward that I had asked you to telegraph to 
St. Croix; I so dreaded the effect on her.’ 

‘ Well, after a bit she got calmer, and I gave her her com- 
posing-draught; and then she begged me to leave her alone 
for an hour. I was almost afraid to do it, seeing her so weak 
and upset; but she was very peremptory with me. I stood at 
the door for ^he best part of the time, and it was hardly on 
the stroke of the hour when I went back to her; and what 
do you think were her first words, ma’am ?’ and now there 
was a broad smile on Marsden’s face. 

'It is no use my trying to guess, Marsden/ 

'No, ma’am; and I assure you I could hardly believe my 


^THEY ASKED FOR TEE SQUIRE,'^ 


293 


ears : " What am I to wear, Marsden, when I receive my son ? ” 
and looking at me as anxious, too, as though the three king- 
doms depended on my answer/ 

^How unlike Virginia!^ I murmured. 

^ It was the first time I ever heard such a speech from my 
mistresses lips, and I have lived close upon four-and-twenty 
years with her; and it put me in a nice pucker. There waS 
only that old black velvet that had been put away in lavender 
for the last twelve years, and Kollston and I had a world of 
trouble remodelling it and making it fit to wear/ Eollstou 
was our upper housemaid, who had always acted as my maid, 
for I was too independent in my habits to need a maid of my 
o 

really looked very well.^ . 

^ did at a pinch ; but my mistress, bless her dear heart I 
grum led a good deal over it, This is really what I have 
come to consult you about; for last night my mistress said to 
me, " You must renovate my wardrobe. I must have some 
handsome dresses; I do not wish my son to be ashamed of his 
mother’s appearance. You and my sister can talk oyer it, 
and then you can get me anything you and she think will be 
suitable.” It was a bit vague, was it not, ma’am ?• but, there ! 
my mistress is as impracticable in such matters as a child,' 

^ Never mind, Marsden; you and 1 will put our heads to- 
gether. Let me see, if you will come to my room half an hour 
before luncheon to-morrow we will arrange it. There must 
be a new velvet dress ; I have made up my mind to that 
already — Mr. Basil has a fancy for velvet; and then, perhaps, 
a satin, and a rich black silk with jet trimmings — we will 
settle all that later on. I shall probably go to town in a day 
or two, and can call on the dressmaker — Hobart Place is only 
a step from Victoria.’ 

‘ That will be best. Now I must not keep you up any 
longer, ma’am/ and Marsden withdrew with a satisfied ex- 
pression on her comely face. 

The next morning, as I was finishing dressing, I heard Nix 
bark, ancj, looking out of my window, I saw Eeggie, in his 
white sailor suit, running down one of the garden paths, with 
the pug waddling after him. The next moment the window 
next mine was thrown up, and ‘ Wait for me, old chap! ’ fol- 
lowed in Basil's voice. Eeggie stopped at once, and planted 
his legs sturdily, as though nothing would induce him to 
move, while Nix ambled round him, heaving his fat little 
body and jingling his bells, with his foolish little tail curled 
up tightly after the manner of v/ell-bred pugs. 


291 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


I stood watching them until Basil came out of the house. 
The gray suit and little gray cap reminded me of La Maison- 
nette and the pavilion. It was always a pretty sight to see 
Eeggie with his father. I liked the way in which Basil 
snatched him up, and, thinking himself unperceived, kissed 
him again and again before he hoisted him on his shoulder 
and marched off with him. They were going to see the pea- 
cocks, and the honeysuckle arbor, and fieggie^s new garden. 
I knew how Basil would enjoy showing him all the sights. I 
am sorry to say that Eeggie spoke of the peacocks in the most 
disrespectful way afterward : 

‘ Them ridiculous birds, what has trains like ladies,’ he ob- 
served. 

Basil seemed in excellent spirits at breakfast-time, and 
when afterward I volunteered to show him the house, he 
consented on the condition that Eeggie came too. This im- 
peded our movements a little, as Eeggie, who had developed 
a strong attachment to Peter, insisted on toiling after us with 
the huge creature tucked under his arm, uiitil he was red in 
the face. I am not quite sure that Peter liked it — he was a 
cat of dignity; he escaped Just as we were entering the Lady 
Gwendoline’s Eoom, as it was still called; and 1 saw him lick- 
ing himself on the window-seat in rather an irritable and in- 
jured manner. 

‘ Do you think Aline would like this room ? ’ I asked pres- 
ently; ‘it is a very pleasant room, and with a little fresh 
cretonne, and a comfortable chair or two, it would make quite 
a pretty boudoir. And it is so quiet, too ; your apartments 
would be quite shut off from the rest of the house.’ 

‘ Where would Eeggie sleep ? ’ he asked' rather anxiously. 
‘The nursery is too far away; I must have him near me.'’ 

‘He could sleep in your dressing-room, if you like; there is 
plenty of space. Yes, perhaps that is best. But, Basil, you 
nave not answered me yet. Do you think Aline will like this 
room ? ’ 

‘ She would he hard to please if she did not. It is a very 
handsome room; those carved cabinets are beautiful. Has 
no one ever used it ? ’ 

‘ Not in my time. Virginia always preferred a front room, 
and hitherto I have sat in the library. I have always had so 
much writing to do, and it was more convenient for the 
tenants and servants; but, of course, that will be your room 
now.’ 

‘But why need. I banish you ?’ with a tinge Pf impatience 
in his tone ; ‘ the library would hold a dozen people comfort- 


295 


' ^TBEY ASKED FOR THE SQUIRE,^ 

ably. Look here. Aunt Catherine, if I am to be nfaster, I 
mean you to be. mistress. You have got to coach me up in 
my duties, so we may as well begin to work together from the 
first.’ 

But, my dear ’ 

^ There is no " but ” in the matter. I intend to keep things 
as much as possible on their former footing. I suppose Aline 
must sit at the top of her own table; but I don’t mean to 
make any other change. You talked a lot of rubbish at St. 
Croix about the Dower House, as you called it — as though I 
should allow my mother, in her delicate state of health, to go 
into that mouldy, fusty, disused wing. Why, the whole place 
smelt like a vault ! ’ 

‘ It has been so long shut up,’ I returned — ‘ ever since my 
grandmother’s time. She and her two daughters inhabited 
that wing when my father married; I showed you their por- 
traits in the billiard-room; they were your great aunts, Alicia 
and Penelope. Of course, it must be thoroughly aired, and 
a great deal of painting and whitewashing will be necessary 
before the rooms can be used.’ 

^Perhaps so; but, as I do not intend to have them used, we 
may leave all that alone. My mother will remain in her own 
comfortable apartments; and as for you, if you are too proud 
or too unsociable to share the library with me, you might 
take possession of that pretty little morning-room downstairs; ’ 
and he so evidently meant what he said, and was so bent on 
his own way, that I dared not say another word; and, after 
all, the Lady Gwendoline’s Boom was most fit for Mrs. Basil 
Lynd hurst. 

Reynolds came up just then, to tell us that Miss Olga and 
the two Mr. Leighs were talking to Mr. Fleming in the draw- 
ing-room. ‘ They asked for the Squire, and for you, ma’amJ 

Basil colored a little, perhaps at the word ^ Squire.’ 

'We must not keep our first visitors waiting, must we. 
Aunt Catherine?’ he said, and hurried me downstairs. 

I knew how kindly Mr. Leigh would greet Basil — he had 
such a good heart! He wrung my hand in quite a feeling 
way as he congratulated me. ‘ I never was so surprised in my 
life,’ he said ; ' and I need not tell you how glad I am, both 
for you and Mrs. Lyndhurst ! ’ and actually his spectacles were 
so moist that he had to take them off to wipe them. I am 
sure he shook hands three times with Basil. His own regret 
seemed to be that his wife had not been able to come with 
him that morning. 

Jem, too, behaved very well. He was a little grave, perhaps 


296 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST, 


a trifle distant, in liis manner to Basil ; but lie was quits his 
old affectionate self with me; only he persisted in calling mo 
Miss Sefton. 

‘But, Jem,^ 1 protested, ‘I like Aunt Catherine ever so 
much better/ 

‘ I cannot help thaV with an accession of gravity; ‘ it would 
not be good taste now, when you have a real nephew/ 

But Basil will not mind/ 

‘ I should not think of asking him,’ rather stiffly. ‘ I have 
been talking to Olgji, and begging her to give it up too; but 
girls are so self-opinionated; she won’t hear of calling you 
Miss Sefton.’ 

‘ I should think not ! ’ indignantly. ‘ Olga is the last one 
to hurt my feelings.’ 

‘ Do you mean that you will be hurt ? ’ and it was evident 
Jem’s soft heart was relenting; unfortunately, at that moment 
Basil called me. 

‘ Aunt Catherine, are we engaged for Saturday? is that the 
day we are going up to town ? Mr. Leigh wants us to dine 
with him.’ 

I saw directly that Basil wished to accept the invitation, so 
I told him Monday would do very nicely for our expedition. 
Jem caught at my arm. 

‘ Don’t you understand how ridiculous it would be for me ? ’ 
he said in a low voice ; ‘ perhaps it does not matter for Olga ; 
but for me ’ 

‘Well — well, do as you like, my dear.’ 

But I was just a trifle hurt with Jem. He need not have 
made the difference in such a hurry. It looked — it certainly 
looked as though he were jealous of Basil. So, though he 
said a great many nice things to me, and made the most 
friendly overtures to Reggie — whom he pronounced a ^jolly 
little cnap’ — I somehow felt as though Jem were not quite 
a success. I hinted at this to Olga, when all the gentlemen had 
betaken themselves to the stables — a part of the establishment 
Basil had not yet visited. We were waiting for Marsden, v/ho 
had not yet finished dressing her mistress. Virginia’s sleep- 
less night had prevented her rising at her usual time. I 
thought Olga looked rather uncomfortable as I spoke. 

‘I am sure he is prejudiced against Basil.’ 

‘Oh, I hope not! I trust not! ’ looking quite pained at the 
idea; ‘but Jem, dear old fellow! has his peculiarities. He 
is a regular Briton, Aunt Catherine. He prides himself upon 
always being straightforward and above-board, as he calls it, 
and, as you know., he does so hate mysteries.’ 


^THEY ABKEJD FOR THE SQUIRED 


297 


'That is so foolish of Jem. 

' He will have it Mr. Basil is mysterious. You know how 
Jem will ask questions. I am sure he must have asked me 
at least five hundred last night ! he will say over and over 
again that Mr. Basil ought to have told us about his wife from 
the very first. By your own account you took him for a 
widower,” he said very severely; ^'well, no fellow has any 
right to let a woman think that of him.” It was very tiresome 
and wrong of Jem, and great nonsense too, for of course he 
gave us no right to suppose such a thing; and why need he 
tell his family affairs to strangers ? ^ 

' I am glad you defended him, Olga.^ 

‘ Of course I defended him. 1 got quite angry with Jem at 
last. Hubert and Kitty were far nicer, as I told him. Oh, 
Aunt Catherine^ I am sure you will be shocked when you see 
Kitty 

‘ Is she so unwell ? ’ 

' She is more than that ; she looks absolutely ill, and she has 
grown much thinner. Hubert does not see it a bit ; when I 
spoke to him, he only said the heat had tired her, and that 
it was a mistake their going to Lowestoft; the place had not 
suited her.^ 

'Poor little woman! I must try and find time to see her 
this afternoon/ 

Oh, she sent you a message. I was to tell you how rejoiced 
she was to hear about Mr. Basil; she really cried when she 
talked about it, and she was so pleased to see me, and so were 
the children. I have only just come home in time to see 
Hugh. Hubert takes him to school to-rnorrow.’ 

'And the twins, and Wilfred, and little Florence 

'Oh>they are all as well as possible! Mab has certainly 
jgrown, and looks^ so pretty. Do you. know, though I had 
got them all round mo, I missed Eeggie. Oh, here comes 
Marsden at lasL and I must leave you to your business!^ 

1 could not prevail on Olga to stay to luncheon. 

Kitty was not well enough to be left, she said; and she 
knew Hubert and Jem would both like to remain. 

I think the stables had thawed Jem; he was far more 
conversational on his return. Basil seemed to like him; but 
I noticed neither of them mentioned Oxford. After luncheon 
Jem started for a long walk with Mr. Fleming, Basil went up 
to sit with his mother, and Mr. Leigh took me across to Fir- 
coft. I found Mrs. Leigh lying on a couch at the open win- 
dow in the drawing-room. Olga was sitting by her, v/orking. 
Sho certainly looked very weak and fragile. I noticed her 


298 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


clieek-bones were slightly prominent, and her eyes were larger 
and brighter. She was always a pretty little woman, though of 
Icite years she had had a worn, faded look. She greeted me 
most affectionately, and made me sit down beside her. 

• I am so glad, dear Miss Sefton ! ^ she whispered. 

Her husband, who had not heard the whisper, interrupted 
her. 

‘Kitty has grown very lazy,^ he sai’d, in his cheerful way; 
‘ she makes us all wait on her. I am head-nurse, and Mab 
and Jessie carry out my orders.’ 

‘Hubert is right; I give them a great deal of trouble,’ she 
returned rather sadly; and it struck me at once that she was 
depressed about herself. 

Mr. Leigh had some parish work, and left us almost im- 
mediately; and a few minutes afterward Harry Vivian came 
up to the window and challenged Olga to a game of tennis. 
Harry was a great favorite of mine; we all called him Harry; 
and, indeed, who could help liking such a bright, cheery 
young fellow ? Long ago I* had guessed the poor boy’s secret, 
though I never mentioned the subject to Olga. If he had 
dnly been half a dozen years older — but he would never be on 
the same plane with her: he was only a good-looking boy, 
and Olga was a woman. I thought she put down her v/ork a 
little reluctantly; she would rather have stayed with us. 

‘I am out of practice,’ she remarked; ‘but I will try one 
game, if you like. But I mean to walk back with Aunt 
Catherine.’ 

Mrs. Leigh looked after them. 

‘We are all so glad to get Olga back,’ she said presently; 
‘ the poqr children have missed her so. Do you know, Hubert 
and 1 think she looks different, somehow. She is quieter. I 
noticed it last night, and put it down to the score of fatigue; 
but to-day she is even quieter. She is geherallv’so full of 
spirits.’ 

‘ I think Jem was a little bit tiresome last night.’ 

‘ Do you mean about your nephew ? I am afraid we none 
of us spared Olga. She was very good in answering all our 
questions. She has grown very pretty; Hubert said so last 
night.’ 

‘ I always thought Olga pretty.’ 

‘Well, not exactly; it is more her expression,’ returned 
Mrs. Leigh. ‘Her features are not at all regular; but until 
last night I never thought her the least pretty.’ 

‘ Well, perhaps not. After all, pretty would apply to a doll. 
There is something better than mere prettiness in Olga’s face.’ 


^THEY A8KED FOR THE SQUIRE. 


299 


^ I often wonder if she will marry/ she continued thoiight-> 
fully. ^ I think she will. Hubert and I talk of it sometimes.’ 

^ Of course she will marry! ’ quite indignantly; for the idea 
of my sweet Olga being an old maid was repellent to me. 
What, was she to go through life and never meet her other 
self? 

^ She has never liked any one yet; I am sure of that. Olga 
is not like other girls. She would ask a great deal from, the 
man she loved.’ 

As- she spoke an odd thought flashed through me — a curi- 
ously painful thought. If Basil had been free, would he have 
cared for Olga ? Would Olga have cared for him ? I changed 
the subject hastily by questioning Mrs. Leigh about her health. 

^If I were you/ I said seriously, would consult a phy- 
sician. Dr. Langham is very clever; but it is always more 
satisfactory to have a second opinion.’ 

wish you would tell Hubert so/ she returned anxiously; 
^ he thinks so much of what you say. I have never liked to 
propose it to him, for fear of frightening him. I am certainly 
not gaining ground this summer.’ 

^ I wonder Mr. Leigh does not see that for himself.’ 

^Oh no! He will have it that it is only Lowestoft, and I 
shall soon get stronger. He was quite angry one day when I 
told him that I felt much weaker. He thinks it is my fancy’ 
— and now there were tears in her eyes — ^ and that I do not 
make sufficient effort. I went out to pay some calls with him 
last week, and* when I got home I fainted.’ 

^ Mrs. Leigh, you must certainly speak to a physician at 
once. It would be the truest kindness to your husband; 
never m.ind if he thinks you fanciful.’ 

^ I believe you are right. I wish I were not so cowardly with 
Hubert. I do so hate worrying him. If you knew how good 
he is to me ! ’ 

^ I think every one knows Mr. Leigh’s devotion to his wife.’ 

She blushed very prettily. 

^If I could only be well enough to help him as I used! it is 
such a trial having to lie here and do nothing. That is why 
I am so glad Olga has come back, because he will miss me 
less. She has always been such a comfort to us.’ 

We had a little more talk, and before I left Mrs. Leigh 
promised that she would ask her husband to take her up to 
London. I was not at all easy in my mind about her; her 
mother had died of decline, and one or two of her aunts. 
There was a wasted look about her, and her hand was so thin 
and light that it gave me a shock to touch it. Olga had 


SOO THS SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNLHURST} 

finished her game, and she joined me at; once.' Her first 
question was about her sister-in-law — did I not think she 
looked ill ? 

/Very ill/ was my reply; and then I told her the piece of 
advice I had given. She seemed relieved to hear it. 

^ She shall gO' at once ; that is -a good idea, Aunt Catherineri 
I wish Kitty were not so afraid of telling Hubert things. In 
my opinion, husbands and wives ought to be perfectly frank 
with each other; but I dare say you Will tell me I am not a good 
judge’ — with a little laugh. ‘But, then, Hubert is such a 
slow, stupid, dear old fellow; he never notices things, like 
other people.’ 

‘ I dpn’t know that,’ was my unlucky response, but I re-' 
pented the words as soon as I had spoken them. ‘He told 
Mrs. Leigh that you were somehow indifferent, and so much 
quieter, and she said the same.’ 

‘ Oh no. Aunt Catherine — not really,’ in a tone of such dis- 
tress that I looked at her in surprise. She was quite pale, 
and her lips were quivering, but she turned off her emotion 
with a laugh. ^Why, what nonsense! As though a person 
were never to be tired — and J em so harassing too ! I — I do 
not think I will come any further, Aunt Catherine; it would 
be a pity to interrupt them — would it not ? ’ 

We were jusf by our gate as she spoke, and two people were 
coming slowly toward us. It was Virginia in her lace hood, 
pacing under the elms, supported by Basil’s arm. Keggie 
was running on before them. 

‘ How happy they look ! ’ whispered Olga, as she left me. 

But I did not answer her; I was too much absorbed in that 
picture. Could I have ever hoped to have seen that sight ? 
Virginia was walking feebly, but her face was upturned. 
Basil was bending down to speak to her. I was almost sorry 
that Keggie saw me and pounced on me with a shout. 

‘I have brought my mother out into the sunshine; there 
is no tonic like fresh air, I tell her.’ Basil still spoke with a 
sort of shyness and constraint, with something of formality, 
but the slight bashfulness sat well on him. ‘Are you tired ?’ 
— looking down at her. 

‘No, my dear — no; you have such a strong arm, and it 
seems to support me so;’ and then I took Reggie’s hand and 
walked beside them, until the gong summoned us to the house. 


‘80 YOU HAVE COMM J3ACKJ* 


801 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

*SO YOU HAVE COMB BACK I ’ 

* Why, what’s the matter, 

That you have such a Februaiy face, 

So full of frost, of storm, and-cloudiness ? ’ 

‘ Much Ado about Nothing.^ 

* Shy she was, and I thought her cold.’ 

Tennyson. 

Mr. Fleiuing left us the- next morning. I did not see iiim 
\ilone again, and our few parting words were exchanged in 
Virginians presence. I thought he looked very grave, but he 
said he should soon see us again, as Basil had made him 
promise to pay us another flying visit early in November. I 
missed him sadly that evening; somehow, I felt sure that, 
as he sat in his lonely room that night, he was missing ua too I 

We dined at Fircroft on Saturday. On looking back on 
that evening, I am not quite sure that I regarded it as a suc- 
cess. Basil was not perfectly at his. ease. He looked very 
handsome in evening dress, but he showed his nervousness by 
being a little stiff. Olga, too, was unusually quiet; it struck 
me that Jem was keeping vigilant watch over her, and that 
she was aware of his surveillance. She seemed half afraid to 
talk to Basil, and her manner shov/ed none of that soft 
friendliness that was natural to her. . Perhaps Basil missed 
it, for I saw him looking at her once or twice in a puzzled 
way. Mrs. Leigh had made an effort, and took her usual seat 
at the dinner-table ; I thought she looked far more fit for bed. 
Her husband seemed overjoyed to see her there. 

‘ Why, this is like old times, Kitty he said ; and all through 
dinner I could see him at inteifvals beaming on her through 
his spectacles. 

I never saw a man more devoted to any woman. Mrs. 
Leigh^s worn, sensitive face brightened into positive bos-uty 
as she caught one of these fond looks. 

^ ^ She is picking up nicely now,’ he said to me in a confideii- 
tial whisper. ^ It is a case of nerves. Kitty was always iso 
finely strung. If she would only make an effort and pul 
herself together, she would get ou.^ 


302 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. ^ 

Poor Mr. Leigh ! I had not the heart to undeceive him. 
Olga, who had overheard this little speech, looked at me and 
shrugged her shoulders rather sadly. We were not a very 
lively party; I think the young men were a little overawed 
by Basil’s stiffness, which most likely they mistook for 
haughtiness. I was not surprised on our return to hear Basil 
say that he had not enjoyed himself much. He liked Mr. 
Leigh exceedingly, and Mrs. Leigh also. 

^ AVhat a pretty little woman she would be,^ he said, ^ if she 
were not quite so thin and unsubstantial-looking! And I 
like that nice-looking fellow, Vivian.; the other two men are 
sticks.’ 

^AndJem?’ 

^ Oh, Jem is a bit stand-offish. I don’t know quite what to 
make of him. He seems a nice fellow enough, out he keeps 
his sister too much in order.’ 

^ He is devoted to her, really.’ 

^ Oh yes, I dare say. Shall I light your candle for you, Aunt 
Catherine ? What a pretty dress that is! You cut them all 
out this evening.’ 

But though he smiled in his old manner as he paid me 
that little comjffiment, I could see Basil was not in his usual 
spirits. 

Sunday v/as better. Basil and Eeggie and I went to church 
in the morning, and I felt very happy and grateful. I was sure 
from Basil’s earnest, devout manner that he was grateful too. 

After evening service we took Olga back with us. Jem was 
not at church, and after supper she sang to us all our favorite 
hymns. Basil was still a little quiet, but Olga seemed more 
like herself, and the ovening passed very pleasantly. 

The next 'morning we took an early train up to town. 
Basil had to interview his tailor and bootmaker, and I spenl; 
a couple of hours in a quiet street leading out of Eaton Square 
discussing materials and fashions with our dressmaker. Miss 
I’Estrange. I am quite sure fhat I never took such interest 
in my own dresses as I did in Virginia’s, and as Miss I’Estrango 
was quite as interested, I felt we had done a good morning’s 
work when I had finished. 

It was nearly two o’clo’ck when Basil and I met for a hasty 
luncheon. He complained that he had not done half his 
business, and that he should- have to run up to town again in 
a day or two. He seemed tired and worn, and gave me such 
curt answers that I left off questioning him. I knew the ip- 
proaching interview with his Wife was making him gloomy. 

There was no time to bo lost. So we jumped into a ban- 


^JSO YOU HAVM COME BACK I ^ 


803 


fiom, and drove as quickly as possible to King’s Cross.. Basil’s 
tongue did not unloose until we were in the train, and then 
he said rather quickly: 

^ I do hate myself for being such a coward ! If I had not 
been such a fool, you might have been sitting comfortably in 
the library at this present moment/ 

^ But I prefer to be where I am, thank you/ 

^ Oh, you say that just to make me feel better about things. 
Of course you never think of yourself, but, all the same, I 
ought to have thought for you. Why need I have brought 
you io such a place ? ’ with an ak of intense disgust. ‘ You 
iiave never been used to it. I ought to have remembered that.^ 

^Konsense,’ I returned, laughing. ^ I have been in much 
worse places. Don’t trouble about my feelings, Basil; I am 
only thinking how I cati best help you. I want Aline to look 
on me as her friend. That is- why I have come With you — 
that she may know how ready we are to welcome her.’ 

But as Basil said no more, and only looked excessively 
gloomy, I thought it better to be silent too; for there are 
fiome^ moods of unhappy self-consciousness when even the 
faintest touch of sympathy seems to bruise. 

In a few minutes we were walking down the Holloway 
Eoad. Basil said v^e had only a few hundred yards ♦ to go. 
He stalked by my side like the knight of the rueful coun- 
tenance. I felt rather nervous and depressed myself. I 
could not help thinking of the weary months our poor boy 
had spent among these humble surroundings, and of the miles 
of pavement his restless feet had traversed night after night. 

‘This is the place,’ he said, so abruptly that I started. 
Before us was a little corner shop, with a fine display of 
flowery Pekoe and fragrant Bohea jn one window, and heaps 
of plums and currants, ornamented with citron and candied 
fruits, in the other, and ‘George Barton’ in gilt letters over 
the door. 

There were no customers in the shop, only a small sandy- 
haired man, with a shrewd, comical sort of face, looking over 
a ledger in the little desk. I guessed this was Mr. Barton 
before Basil went up- to him and held out his hand. 

‘Are you surprised to see me, George ? ’ 

‘Well, I am a bit,’ looking at me rather curiously. ‘Allie 
never told me she expected you. She is in there,’ jerking his 
head in the direction of the parlor. ‘ When did you get back, 
Fleming?’ 

‘ When did I arrive in England, do you mean ? uast Tues- 
day; but I couldn’t come before — I couldn’t really, George/ 


304 TUB SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURST. 


in a dej^recating voice as Mr. Barton looked at him rather 
sharply. ‘ 1 have a lot to tell you — and Aline; we had better 
go inside. You will be v/ondering whom I have brought with 
me. This is my aunt, Miss S.efton.^ 

The little man ducked to me. 

^Your servant, ma’am,’ he said civilly; ‘I had no idea 
Fleming had a relative in the world. Go to Allie, there’s a 
good chap, and I’ll join you as soon as Smith can take my 
place — he is only changing a cheque for me — ^and then you 
can tell us all your news.’ 

He spoke so heartily and kindly that he prepossessed me 
in his favor; but oh, my poor boy! no wonder you ran away 
from it all. 

‘Come along, Aunt Catherine,’ observed Basil in a low 
voice, and I followed him into a neat, cheerful little parlor. 

Even in that instantaneous glance I saw there were plants 
in the window, and some nicely-arranged flowers on the small 
round table. A gi-eat black cat was sleeping in a cushioned 
chair; and some one— Aline, of course — was busy over some 
white work by the open window. She dropped it as we entered, 
and looked at us in extreme surprise as she rose; and, good 
heavens ! what a beautiful face ! 

‘So- you have come back, Basil!’ she said coldly, and with- 
out taking any notice of me. ‘ I think you might have written 
to tell us when to ex]3ect you.’ 

‘ I wanted to surprise you,’ he said, with an attempt ac 
playfulness as he kissed her. 

I noticed she turned her cheek to him and received his 
caress reluctantly. 

What a grand -looking woman! I thought of Basil’s idyllic' 
description of her in the harvest-fleld, when she had flrst taken 
his fancy : and I could not but own that many a man might 
have lost his heart to her. 

She looked older than I expected — older than Basil — and 
her flgnre was large and matronly; but the small classical 
head, with its smooth glossy plaits, was just as he described 
it to me, and so was the pure, clearly-cut proflle. The large, 
dark eyes had a strange penetrating sadness in them; only 
the chin and jaw was a little heavy and sullen-looking. 

Basil did not seem to notice his chilling reception; perhaps 
he was too well used to it. 

* ‘ Don’t you wonder who this lady is. Aline ? ’ he asked, with 
a sort of forced friendliness. ‘ I am going to give you and 
George another surprise. I have found some relatives, and 
this is one of them, my Aunt Catherine — Miss Sefton, I mean/ 


305 


YOU HAVE COME BACK!^ 

‘And I have come with Basil to be introduced to his wife/ 

I interposed hurriedly* ‘ My dear, I hope you and I will be 
very good friends in the future/ 

But though I took her head and pressed it kindly she made 
no sort of response; only a hard look came over her face. 

‘ I suppose Basil has told you so much about me that you 
are anxious to make my acquaintance,^ she said, with a sort 
of veiled sarcasm. And then, wdth a complete change of 
manner, and dropping my hand, ‘ Where's Keggie, Basil 

‘He is at the Hall — I mean, I haven't brought him.. I 
thought ' — rather awkwardly — ‘ you would come and see him 
instead.' 

‘You haven't brought him ? ' — and now there was a stormy 
light in her eyes. ‘ You have kept him away from me ail 
this time, and now you have left him behind! That is. the 
way you always treat me! But of cours^ Eeggie is nothing 
to me.' 

‘ Come, come; you aren't quarrelling with your chap al- 
ready, are you, Allie ? ' observed her brother, who had over- 
heard her last words. ‘Fleming says he has a lot to tell ns; _ 
most likely he has some object in- leaving the kid behind. 
You see,' turning to us, and rubbing his hands apologetically, 
‘Allie has been missing him pretty badly all this time; it is 
natural she should have a mother’s feelings. I think the 
better of her for that, so we won't blame her. Give the lady 
a seat, Fleming, and take one yourself. Allie will be right 
enough when she knows what 350U have got to tell her.* 

But, as though to contradict this toothing statement. Aline 
resumed her work without putting another question, leaving 
Basil to begin his story as best he could. But I saw she lis- 
tened to every word; and as he mentioned his mother she 
drew a long breath and looked up at him. He intercepted 
the glance at once. 

‘Are you glad I have found my mother Aline ? ' he asked 
gently. 

‘I don't know; I haven't seen her yet' — evasively. 

‘But you might be glad, for my sake,' he persisted; but as 
she made no answer he went on with his story. 

I saw her start and change color when he mentioned Reg- 
gie's illness, though he passed over it very lightly; but she 
did not interrupt him once, though Mr. Barton kept up a 
running commentary in a sort of crescendo, which became, 
more shrill as Basil described his home. 

‘Well I am jiggered!' was his observation at this point. 

20 


306 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST, 

I felt the expression needed translation to render it intelli- 
gible, and he rubbed up his sandy hair until it seemed to 
bristle. Mr. Barton’s excitement seemed to communicate 
itself to Aline — she looked less statue-like. After a moment 
she laid down her work. 

‘Are squires very rich, Basil ? ’ 

‘ I don’t know, my dear,’ evidently delighted to find she 
would speak to him. ‘I cannot answer for other squires, but 
Aunt Catherine tells me I have a large fortune.’ 

‘ Oh ! you will be happy then,’ she said, still looking at him. 
^ Our poor life has never suited you; you have not been brought 
up to it, as George and I have. You will get on better with 
your fine friends.’ 

‘ Why, you talk as though I were going to leave you behind ! 
only I know you don’t mean it. Aline, you should just see 
Eeggie feeding the peacocks — it is quite a picture! Aunt 
Catherine is going to order him a velvet suit; just fancy how 
he will look running over the lawns and pulling the fiowersi’ 

She seemed to listen to him breathlessly — her lips parted 
! — her eyes softened. 

‘And there is such a .beautiful room for you Aline — they 
call it the Lady Gwendoline’s Boom — full of such lovely 
things; and I shall be able to buy you all you want — silk 
dresses, furs, lace, anything you fancy — and my mother is 
keeping some jewelry for you: you were always fond of 
pretty things. 

‘But I am not thinking of them now,’ arching her long 
neck with a gesture of disdain, and looking handsomer than 
ever. ‘ I am not a child to be bribed into good behavior by 
pretty things; the question is’ — and here her voice faltered 
— ‘ wouldn’t you rather have me stop here along with George, 
than be shaming you l)efore your fine friends ? ’ 

There was no mistaking the anxiety with which she waited 
for his answer. 

‘Why should you shame me?’ he returned impatiently. 
‘Why should we not begin all over again ? We have made a 
mess of things — I will not deny that. I have not been the 
best of husbands to you, Aline; and there have been times 
when you have forgotten yourself. But if you will only make 
a fresh start, I am willing to overlook the past; a man cannot 
say more than that.’ 

Poor Basil! he uneant well; but if he had only been a little 
softer with her! But I suppose he could not help his stern 
manner.. 

‘I am sure Fleming — I beg his pardon, Lyndhurst — ia 


‘/SfO YOV HAVE COME EACKP 


807 


speaking fair and proper, Allie; and there is no call for you 
to be so stand-offish with him. You are his wife ; remember 
that.^ 

^ I am not likely to forget it, George,^ she returned, with a 
proud sort of humility. ^ No, you cannot say more than that, 
Basil; I did not expect to hear y^^u say so much, after the 
way I have behaved. If you mean what you say, and you are 
'willing to have me to live with you — ^ But there,^ inter- ' 
rupting herself, ^ I will make no promises — I have broken too 
many already — only I will try my best not to disgrace you.’ 

She held out her hand to him as she spoke; it was a large 
v/ell-shaped hand, but showed traces of Avprk. There were 
tears in her eyes, but I do not think Basil saw them. 

^Then that is settled, my dear,’ he said kindly enough; but 
I wished he had kissed her — I think she expected it, for she 
sighed in a disappointed way as she withdrew her hand. 

‘ Come, this is first-rate,’ exclaimed Mr. Barton, rubbing up 
his hair again. ^Allie had always the makings ef a lady in 
her, and 1 shall be proud and happy to see her in her right 
place. Kot but what I shall miss you,’ looking at her wist- 
fully. ^ You and me have always been comfortable together, 
and the place will be a bit dull without you; but I have no 
call to tliinTj; of that. When shall you want her, Lyndhurst ? 
that is -the next question.’ 

^ Had she not better come back with us to-night, Basil ? ^ 
I asked. ^ There is no need for any preparation.’ 

I thought Basil seemed disturbed at my question; but a 
moment’s reflection made him think better of it. 

^ Yes, why not ? Yoii have not much packing to do, have 
you. Aline ? You might put up a few things, and let George 
send the rest; besides, I can get you all you want.*’ 

‘ To-night ? — come back with you to-night ? ’ and Aline 
certainly looked frightened; but her brother gave her an en- 
couraging pat on the shoulder. 

^ You had better strike when the iron’s hot ; there is nothing 
like getting a thing over. Yes — ^yes; go with your husband, 
Allie, and be a good girl, and he’ll be proud of you yet.’ 

^ Can I help you, my dear ? ’ I said in a low voice ; but she 
shook her head. 

^ There is not much to do, and Becky is used to help me. 
Basil,’ rather timidly, ^ would not Miss Sefton like some tea ? 
The kettle must be boiling by now.’ 

^That’s an excellent idea!’ interposed her brother, without 
waiting for Basil to answer; ^ I guess we are all pretty dry, 
talking so long. Just you hurry up, Becky, there’s a good 


308 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LTEDHURSF/ 

lass. Why/ with a laugh of intense enjoyment, ^ to think of 
my ordering about the Squire^s lady in this fashion ! but you 
will look over it, Allie, won't you ? ' 

‘I wish you would not talk such nonsense ! ' she returned 
rather crossly, as she left the room. Certainly Mrs. Basil 
Lyndhurst had not the most angelic temper in the world; but 
when she returned, a few minutes later, all traces of sullen- 
ness had vanished. I watched her with pleasure as she helped 
the rough maid-of-all-work to set the table. All her move- 
ments were slow, but graceful. She did not seem conscious 
of my observation; but more than once I saw her raise her 
dark eyes, and fix them on Basil in a curiously searching 
manner ; but she scarcely spoke as she poured out tea, except 
to ask her brother once to pass the tea-cake to me* 

Directly tea was over she went upstairs, and, after a few 
minutes, Basil followed her. I think he wanted to give her 
a hint or two about her dress. The moment we were left 
alone, Mr. Barton edged his chair a little nearer to me in a 
confidential manner. 

^ I am more glad than L can say, ma'am/ he began respect- 
fully, ^ to see that there is a chance of those two coming to a 
better understanding.* I don't mean to blame one more than 
another. Allie has given Fleming a lot to bear/ but if he 
had only been a lifctle more patient with her ! ' 

‘ Has she — has Aline been going on better lately ? ' 

^ Oh, I see you know all about it/ frowning anxiously. ^ I 
suppose Fleming — bah! I can't get used to the new name; 
Jjyndhurst, I mean — has told you ? Yes, it is a bad job for 
both of them — these breaks-out of Allie's; but she has not 
had one for months. I do believe she is ever so much better, 
poor girl ! ’She struggles and prays against her temptation ; 
but at times it seems as though the devil were too strong for 
her. Her mother died of it, you see— not that Allie knows^ 
that — that makes me not quite so hard on her.' 

^But can nothing be done ?' 

^ You must never let her taste anything stronger than tea' 
or coffee/ he returned earnestly. ^ Why, I never touch a drop 
of beer even before her. Keep her amused and happy, and 
give her a word of praise now and then, just to let her see 
you are pleased with her, and you will soon see what Allie is. 
She has done a deal of fretting lately after Fleming and the 
boy; it is a sore point with her, that neither of them needs 
her. I was fearful that she would go wrong v/ith brooding 
over it; but no, she has kept herself straight.' 

L . I am afraid you will miss her, Mr. Barton ? ' 


‘/SfO YOU HAVE COME BACKP 


309 


^ Well, ma’am,’ in an odd, choked voice, ^you are right about 
that. Allie is just the apple of my eye. She has been my 
girl, you see, ever since father and mother died, and I won’t 
deny it will be a bit dull for me; though, as her husband has 
the best right to her, I am not going to complain as long as 
he makes her happy.’ 

‘ Do you think she wishes to come with us ? ’ 

^ That is a difficult question, ma’am. She is sickening for 
a sight of the child, and she is proud of being invited so 
kindly by her husband; but, in her heart, I expect Allie is 
mortally afraid. It is going among strangers, you see; and 
then she has never been used to grandeur; it will be kind of 
queer to her, having a livery servant to stand behind her 
chair.’ 

* Oh, she will soon get used to that.’ 

^If you would only be her' friend, and teach- her what to 
dol ’ he went on, looking at me so wistfully that I was quite 
touched. ‘ You s^e, Allie has never had a woman friend, and 
Becky, though she is invaluable, has been a bit rough with 
her. Now, a lady like yourself will be different, and if you 
can only get an influence over my poor girl ! ’ 

‘1 will try my best — I will indeed, Mr. Barton; and my 
sister will be good to her, too.’ 

^ Thank you kindly. Then I will not fash myself over- 
much. You will not be expecting too much of the lass? 
Allie is no talker; even with ir ^ she is mostly silent; but she 
knows how to make a house comfortable.’ 
am glad to know that.’ 

‘ Why, she has the cleverest fingers in the world!’ — warm- 
ing into i^.iimation. ‘ You should just see the set of shirts 
she has made for me! You would not wish to see better 
work. And she is industrious, too — never a moment idle, 
except when she is in one of her bad states, and then she will 
sit and do nothing for the hour together. Why, the cakes 
and pies she makes would astonish you! And she keeps the 
place as tidy as a new pin. Miss her!’ — rather grumpily — 
‘ay, and Becky will miss her, too, for all the trouble she gives 
both of us when she is in her tantrums.’ 

We were interrupted at this moment, for Basil came back, 
and a few minutes afterward Aline followed him. She was 
dressed for walking, and looked very nice. There was no 
fault to be found in the gray gown, and hat bound with a 
darker shade of gray velvet. I thought from her appearance 
that she had been crying. 

‘ You have hot been long getting ready, Allied 


SIO THE SEARCH FOR BA^L LYNDHUR8T. 


^No/ she-safd quietly, as she buttoned her glovea; 'I had 
not much t6 do. Basil would hardly let me take anything. 
He says my clothes are not grand enough for Brookfield Hall, 
and that he must buy everything fresh, so I have only got my 
blue cashmere besides this/ 

^ Never mind, my dear,^ I interposed cheerfully; ^you ana 
I will come up to town and order all you require/ 

^ Shall 1 be able to come and see George too ? ^ she asked 
anxiously. 

^ Now, you are not going to trouble your head about me,^ 
returned her brother alfectionately. ‘Becky and I will do 
first-rate togetner ; shan’t we, Becky ? ’ — ^as she stood in the 
doorway, looking on rather grimly. ‘There! you are ready 
now, so give us a kiss, and don’t keep Fleming waiting.’ 

‘ I don’t half like leaving you, George,’ she said, putting up 
her face to be kissed, ‘ No one is half so good to me as you 
are. I doubt but I shall repent it/ 

‘ Come, you might have paid me a prettier compliment,’ 
observed j&asil good-humoredly. ‘Good-by, George! I will 
bring Aline back to see you.’ 

He took hold of her arm, and hurried her away, as though 
he dreaded a longer leave-taking. 

Mr. Barton followed us to the door of the shop, and watched 
us disconsolately as we seated ourselves in the cab Becky had 
procured. As we drove off. Aline leaned forward and waved 
her hand to him. 

‘ Good-by, dear old George! ’ she said unsteadily; and a 
great tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Are you sure you will 
take me to see him, Basil ? ’ 

I ‘Quite sure, my dear!’ 

^‘Yes; but he will not be welcome at Brookfield Hall. 
'George will never come and see me there,’ she added sorrow- 
fully; and to this Basil made no answer. 


7EM GIVm MIS oriMIOM, 


Sll 




CHAPTEK XXXIIL 

JEM GIVES HIS OPINION. 


‘Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd,' 

Fom Like It. 

‘ I know the gentleman 
To be of worth, and worthy estimation, 

And not without desert so well reputed.’ 

‘ Two Gentlemen of Verona. 


I wish Aunt Catherine had not repeated Huberts speech; 
somehow it gave me an uncomfortable feeling for dr^’^s! 

It was so unlike Hubert to notice if one were a littio quieter, 
Or if one talked less; so it must have been Kitty who put it 
into his head. He had a way of repeating her speeches at 
times, but I had never minded it before. W as there any truth 
in the accusation ? * For the first time in my life I shrank 
from questioning myself too closely. Perhaps my holiday 
had spoilt me and unfitted me for the monotonous routine of 
home-life, but certainly Fircroft had never se''med so dull to 
me before, and, worst of all, Jem was disappointing me. 

It was impossible to deny that Jem was in a most captious, 
fault-finding humor; indeed, there was no pleasing him; he 
grumbled if I mentioned St. Croix, and seemed to take no 
interest in anything I told him; and yet if I were silent, he 
would ask me quite crossly what I was thinking about, as 
though my silence irritated him; indeed, I never knew the 
dear fellow so utterly perverse. I am sure Harry felt for me, 
though his loyalty to J em would not allow him to say so ; 
but he gave me a sympathizing glance now and then, as 
though to beg me not to min^ ; but somehow I did mind very 
much indeed, and more than once I had a quiet cry when I 
went to my room at night, for if Jem were not pleased with 
me, my whole world seemed out of gear. 

He damped my enjoyment completely the evening Aunt 
Catherine and Mr. Basil dined at Fircroft. He seemed to 
listen to every word Mr. Basil said to me, and if I laughed or 
repeated any of our old St. Croix jokes, he frowned and 
seemed quite annoyed. I left off talking at last, and gave all 
my attention to Harry, who took it quite gratefully. 

Mr. Basil was certainly not at his ease; he was dignified. 


312 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST.. 


and rather stiff and formal. I never found^ut before how 
handsome he was, and for the first time I saw a likeness to 
his mother — the only time he smiled naturally was when I 
told him this; he quite blushed with pleasure — at least, he 
grew red. 

am so glad you can see it/ he said in a low voice. 
think my mother perfectly lovely;^ 'and then I saw Jem 
scowling at me, and I left Mr. Basil and went to the piano. 

Jem was not more amiable the next day. He grumbled a 
good deal on his way to the church, and he chose to be ex- 
ceedingly put out because Aunt Catherine wished me to go 
back with them to supper after evening service. 

‘ She might have had the civility to ask me too!^ he said, 
as we turned into the road; ^but I suppose the Don objects 
to me.^ 

Jem was really too bad. Of course It was all his jealousy 
of Mr. Basil. I would not take the trouble to ask whom he 
meant by that contemptuous sobriquet, so 1 talked to , Harry 
all the way home, and never addressed a single observation to 
Jem — even a worm will turn; and I was growing tired of 
Jem^s ill-humor! 

Jem refused to go to church with me in the evening. He 
dragged off Harry for a long walk, so I went with Mab and 
Jessie. The Hall pew was nearly opposite the Vioarage pew. 
I could not help noticing how grave and abstracted Mr. Basil 
looked; I had no intention of watching him, only his fixed, 
stern expression riveted me for the moment, as I glanced at 
him; he suddenly looked up, and our eyes met, I felt some- 
what confused, and all the rest of the service I could not help 
thinking what that singular hashing look meant. We three 
walked back together in the sweet dewy evening. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst was waiting for us in the drawing-room. 
She wore her velvet dress, and a pretty little lacs cap, and I 
understood then why Mr. 'Basil thought her lovely. She had 
always been handsomer than Aunt Catherine, and with that 
soft color on her face, and that gentle, tremulous smile, she 
certainly looked very sweet. 

After supped I sang to them — I think I never enjoyed sing- 
ing more than I did that evening; there was very l ^tle light 
in the room, and the windows were open. Mr. Basil sat near 
his mother; I saw her take his hand once, and kiss it; per- 
haps the ccmi- darkness gave her courage, for they were still 
very shy with each other. Aunt Catherine told me that Mrs^ 
Lyndhurst feared to give him the least caress. 

* He is very reserved with her ! ^ she said to me, ^ and cannot 


JEM GIVES ms opmioir. 


313 


bring himself to use any filial freedom, and this restrains her; 
but when the first strangeness w^ars off, she will soon see how 
affectionate Basil can be/ 

Jem came to fetch me as usual, but he sent in a message 
that he was smoking and had Rollo with him, and would wait 
outside. I fancied Mr. Basil looked disappointed. 

‘ There was no need for your brother to take the trouble ; 
I could have escorted you,^ he said rather formally, but though 
he attended me to the door, he did not speak to Jem, who 
was strolling up and down under the trees. 

He threw away the end of his cigar as I joined him, and 
took hold of my arm; my first' words were hardly gracious, 
however. 

^You need not have taken the trouble to fetch me, Jem. 
Y ou must have been tired with your long walk/ 

^ I suppose you meant the Don to walk home with you ? ^ 
with a return of gruff ness; but I was not in a specially meek 
mood. 

‘ I wish you would not call people names, Jem. It is not 
good form.^ 

^ I think it a capital name, and just fits the person for whom 
it is intended. Lyndhurst is such a stiff sort of chap. He 
looks ever so much taller than any one else.^ 

‘ What makes you dislike him so ? ^ I replied in a vexed 
tone. ^ You do nothing but find fault with him. It is hardly 
kind to Aunt Catherine and Mrs. Lyndhurst, to pick holes in 
their belongings.^ 

* I can^t help it,’ curtly. ^ I can get on with most fellows, 
but Lyndhurst and I don’t hit it off somehow/ 

^But, Jem, he was so friendly to you at first I ^ 

MVas he ? I can’t say I remember that circumstance. I 
have a notion that we eyed each other like couple of tom- 
cats, as though to test our fighting qualities. Look here, 
Olga, I know you have thought me disagreeable the last day 
or two, but I can’t get over the fact that Lyndhurst and 
Fleming are the same person and I hate your having any- 
thing to do with him there.’ 

Jem spoke in the same surty manner; but somehow I did 
not mind it half so much as 1 had minded his sneering in- 
nuendoes; it was better to have our fight out once for all. 
Jem evidently thought the same, for, instead of turning into 
the paddock that led to our kitchen-garden, he continued 
Walking down the road. 

^ r am beginning to detest the sight of the fellow ! ’ he went 
on, but this was too much for my patience. 


814 ^ THE BEARCH FOR BABXL LTNDHURBTX 

^ What right have you to speak so of any one after a throe 
days' acquaintance?' I said angrily; ‘you do not know Mr. 
Basil; with all his faults, I have the greatest -respect for him. 
He is not what you think him; ho is a clever man and a 
gentlemanf, and his life, has been very unhappy. Are you so 
good and immaculate yourself that you cannot make allow- 
ances for a mistake made in youth ?' 

‘You are meaning his marriage,' he returned quickly; but 
I was not thinking of that. ‘ Look here, Olga, I have heard 
a lot of this fellow Fleming— Lyndhurst, I mean. V/hen I 
was at Oxford, the men told me plenty about him; he did 
not bear the best of characters with the authorities. Ho got 
into a freethinking set, and called himself an Agnostic. 
There was a row or two in which he was mixed up, and he 
very nearly got rusticated.' 

‘ I don't belf^ve a word of it,^ rather rudely. 

‘ Oh, you don't — don't you ! I suppose you have got an 
excellent. reason for your incredulity?' sneered Jem — ‘a girl 
has so much experience of the world and men. Then, too, 
his marriage was disgraceful.' 

‘ It was nothing of the kind,' I retorted. ‘ Aunt Catherine 
told me all about it; she was a beautiful girl, and her friends 
were most respectable.' 

^ Her brother has a shop in Holloway, hasn't he ? and Flem- 
ing — confound the two names! Lyndhurst, I mean— married 
her on the sly; but of course that was not wrong ? You have 
changed your ideas of morality, I find.' 

‘2Io, Jem; but you used a wrong word; there was nothing 
disgraceful about Mr. Lyndhurst's marriage.' 

‘Use what word you like, only let me finish. I cannot 
think what makes you so contradictory to-night. I tell you 
I don’t approve of Lyndhurst, only you need not repeat all 
this to Aunt Catherine; she is bound to think the best of her 
nephew. The part about him I dislike most is his scraping 
up an acquaintance with you in that outlandish place, and 
letu'ng you believe he was a widower.' 

I was so angry at this that I was nearly overwhelming Jem 
with my wrath; he should know for the first time in his life 
that I had a temper. I would give him a taste of it that 
should be caustic and stringent enough to last him for a 
month; but as I turned to him with this amiable intention, 
I saw him regarding me with such manifest anxiety, with 
such a troubled expression, that I softened at once. 

‘I have hardly patience to answer you at all,' I began; / but 
I feel I must defend Mr. Basil. You are yei-jr unjust, Jem, 


JEM GIVES HIS OPINION, 


815 


and vorj prejudiced; it was my own stupidity that made me 
take him for a widower. I thought, from something Reggie 
said, that his mother was dead; but he meant his nurse, so^ 
—stammering a little — ‘ I told Aunt Catherine, and she be- 
lieved it, too; but it was all a mistake on our parts, and Mr. 
Basil very soon undeceived us.^ 

‘All the same, he had no, right to be so much with you, and 
I must say I wonder at Aunt Catherine: she ought to have 
known that an acquaintance with a suspicious-looking fellow 
should have been stopped at once.^ 

‘Ah, Jem, how ridiculous you are!^ I exclaimed, quite 
weary of his persistence. ‘ Wht*t could be the harm of ex- 
changing a few civil words with a neighbor ? Mr. BasiKnever 
spoke to me unless he was obliged; indeed, on several occa- 
sions, I noticed that he avoided me. But when Reggie was 
ill ^ 

‘Ah, of course, I know how things would be then!^ in an 
exasperated tone. ‘ Aunt Catherine is too soft-heart(?d, and, 
for the matter of that, you know you are a goose yourself, 
Olga. Well, I don^t wa^t to make things worse by putting 
ideas into your head, but Aunt Catherine was old enough to 
know that it was not a safe line to take when she had a young 
lady under her care. 1 am not saying any harm has come of 
it, mind you, but, all the same, it has put me all wrong with 
Lyndhurst.^ 

Jem was purposely vague in his concluding remarks, which 
were made in a decidedly apologetic voice. Not for worlds 
would I have had him suspect that I understood his hints, 
that they were making me tingle with shame all over. He 
feared harm might have come of it, how could I avoid un- 
derstanding him?— it -was a dangerous position for a ^ir\ 
Poor, dear Jem! it was only his love and anxiety for me tin t 
had made him so gruff and disagreeable, and filled him with 
such animosity to the young Squire; my heart relented to this 
foolish, blundering Jem. I must set his mind at rest. . 

‘ Jem,^ I said as gently as I could, ‘you must put all these 
foolish ideas out of your head; they wrong me as well as Mr. 
Basil — he and I are very good friends. I — I hope he respects 
me as much as I do him, and from his manner I think it is 
so; no one has ever shown me more respect. I would trust 
him more than most men. I have never heard a word from 
his lips that I would have wished unsaid; he is a gentleman, 
and noblesse oblige — and I wish ' — and here a spark of temper 
would show itself — ‘ I wish you were more like him.^ 

Jem seemed quite taken aback by this little outburst. It 


316 tSe search for basil LyHBHURSrr 

touched him in spite of himself, and he had the'rare magnaJ 
nimity to overlook my parting thrust. 

^ Well, perhaps he is not such a bad fellow, after all, and if 
there is no harm done ^ 

He was floundering headforemost into it again, but I caught 
him up smartly. 

‘ Harm — what harm should there be ? ^ But I felt, with a 
little sinking of heart, that Jem had very nearly hit the truth. 
/ 1 have another friend at the Hall, that is all; and when Mrs. 
Basil Lyndhurst comes, I hope I shall like her, too.^ 

I was carrying matters with a high hand. Jem began to 
look as though he had had enough of it; but he took up my 
last words: 

^ I don't suppose you will care much for a vulgar, under- 
bred young woman.' 

‘ But she is not vulgar — Aunt Catherine told me so. Mr. 
Basil would never have fallen in love with the sort of person 
you describe; he is too reflned in his tastes. Anyhow, 1 mean 
to try and like her, just to help Aunt -Catherine, and because 
— because she is Reggie's mother;' and then all of a sudden 
my throat seemed to swell, and I felt as though I wanted to 
cry. 

Jem gave me a rough little shake. 

‘ Now don't be a goose, Olga; I have only meant it for your 
good. You ought to be glad that I look after you. Many 
fellows would not take half so much trouble for a sister.' 

‘ I don't want you to take that sort of trouble for me. It 
is very disagreeable, Jem.' 

‘ Very well, then, I won't another time, and you may look 
after ycurself.' Then, relenting at my sad face: ‘Now, be 
a good girl, and forgive me. Haven't I a right to take care 
of the best little sister in the world ? I vow I don’t know 
the fellow who is good’ enough for her;' and, charmed with 
this compliment, I no longer refused to kiss and make friends, 
as we called it in our childish days, only I do not believe Jem 
and I had ever quarrelled so seriously before. ‘ I had no idea 

J ou could be such a spit-fire/ he observed as we strolled on 
appily, arm-in-arm. ‘ Violet Campbell can say a sharp thing 
or two, but she can't hold the candle to you.' 

To this day I have no idea whether it was Jem's artful in- 
tention to change the subject, or whether he made this speech 
quite innocently, and without malice prepense; but it cer- 
tainly had the singular effect of driving the Hall folk out of 
my head in a nioment. For, after all, Jem was Jem, and X 
should like to see the girl who But never mind that. 


JEM eiVES HIS OPimOH. 


317 


^And who may Violet Campbell be?’ I asked in a tone 
calculated to strike awe into any bachelor brother’s heart. 

‘ Oh, she is only a girl I met down at Marlow,’ mumbled 
Jem. ‘ Didn’t I tell you about the water-party ? She steered 
in our boat. She was a nice little thing— not as handsome 
as Bella Parker and her cousin Nora, but still ’ 

^ You have a very bad habit, Jem, of calling young ladies 
by their Christian names. It is bad form, and not at all re- 
spectful.’ 

‘ Oh, shut up ! ’ was the amiable rejoinder to this sisterly 
rebuke. 

^ Did you only see Miss Campbell once ? ’ I continued, bent 
on severe cross-examination. 

^She was at the picnic next day in the Quarry Woods, and 
I met her coming out of church the following Sunday. She 
was staying with her uncle — ^he seemed a jolly old boy — but 
she told me her people live in Kensington.’ 

^ Indeed.’ 

‘ They are a large family — there or four boys, and as many 
gl Is. Vi — I mean Miss Campbell — is the eldest daughter.’ 

^ She seems to have told you a good deal about herself and 
her belongings.’ 

Well, one must talk about something if one is with a per- 
son for three or four hours,’ replied Jem testily. ^I dare say 
you contrived to say a good deal to the Don when he was 
mooning about in that summer-house of his.’ But here Jem 
found himself unable to proceed, as I eSectually closed his 
lips. ‘ Pax, you ridiculous child ! you have half suffocated 
me.’ 

^Jem,’ disregarding this remonstrance, ^I wish you would 
tell me a little more about Miss Campbell. She is very 
pretty, you say ? ’ 

^ I said nothing of the kind.’ 

^ Well, you implied it. You said she was a nice little thing.’ 

^ So she is, and so are you, when you behave yourself.’ 

^ Do you mean she is like me ? ’ brightening im. 

^ No I don’t. .You are not half so pretty. I mean she is 
a different style. She is your height, perhaps a little taller; 
but there, I never could describe girls. She is awfully easy 
to get on with, and there is no nonsense about her, and .he 
does not try to flirt with a fellow. One of her brothers — Kit 
she called him — was in our boat, too. He is coming to 
Balliol next term.’ 

* Did she — did he, I mean, ask you to call ? ’ 

^Oh, there is plenty of time for that,’ replied Jem cheer- 


I. 


818 THE I8EARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


fully. ^ I said something about looking them up when I went 
to town; but I think I shall wait until I know young Camp- 
bell a little better. Vi — I mean Miss Campbell-^is coming 
down to' Commemoration next June.’ 

I was silent. A little further reflection made me swallow 
this piece of information very quietly. I was quite used to 
these confidences on Jem’s part; there was always some ‘aw- 
fully nice girl’ on the tapis. Not that Jem had ever been 
really in love, but he was of a genial, social temperament, and 
all girls liked -him. He was so full of fun, and he admired 
them so frankly, the most prudish of them could not take 
umbrage at his attentions. 

Last summer it had been that pretty little Miss Black, and 
in the winter he had transferred his allegiance to Sybil Grey, 
and so now if it were Violet Campbell I need not disquiet 
myself; so I tried not to think that there was a shade more 
earnestness in Jem’s manner, and a greater unwillingness to 
enter into close particulars. 

Nothing could be more foolish than for Jem to lose his 
heart at his age. Why, he had not left Oxford, and it would 
be years before he could hope to hold a brief; and with only 
a hundred and fifty pounds a year of his own, he was certainly 
not ill a position to marry. 

One question I did put to Jem as we stood at the Hall 
door: 

*Are the Campbells rich ?’ 

^ Kich ? I am suxe I don’t know,’ returned J em, staring at 
me. ‘ Mr. Campbell is a solicitor; they live in Addison Road. 
No; I am certain they are not. I remember Vi — Miss 
Campbell saying that some of the boys must go into the city, 
as her father could only afford to send Kit to Oxford. Why 
do you want to know ? ’ 

‘Oh, only for information. Jem, there is the prayer-bell, 
and we must go in.’ 

Kitty had retired early. As I passed her door I went in 
to bid her good-night. She was lying awake, and fully ex- 
pecting me. She looked hot and feverish, and I could tell 
by her voice that she had been crying. I asked her, with 
much concern, if she felt less well. 

‘No,’ she returned dejectedly; ‘I am only fretting about 
Hubert. I have been speaking to him about Miss Sefton’s 
proposition; it seems to worry him excessively.’ 

‘ Do you mean he begrudges the expense ? ’ 

‘ No, of course not — neither the expense nor trouble. Has 
Hubert ever begrudged me anything ? He will take me up 


JEM GIVES HIS OPimOJV, 


819 


on Thursday; but, all the same,, he thinks that I am fanciful, 
and wanting in patience. He has told me as much to-night ; he 
gave me quite a sermon after chu^’ch, about the duty of hear- 
ing weakness more cheerfully.’ 

How can Hubert be so ridiculous ? I begin to lose all 
patience with him; even Harry said this morning how far 
less well you seemed, and that he feared you ^ere losing 
ground daily.’ 

‘You must not be hard on Hubert, dear. 1 sometimes 
think he is shutting his eyes purposely, and that he does not 
want'to see it. His manner gives me this impression. Why, 
he was almost irritable with me this evening; and the end of 
it was he packed me off to bed, though I told him I never 
slept noTy until one or two. It is so dreary lying here just 
thinking of it all.’ 

‘ Never mind. I will stay with you, and then you will not 
be duU; when people are weak, they get so low-spirited. 1 
think that is the worst of illness.’ 

‘ I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you again,’ she 
returned, looking at me affectionately. ‘ I have missed you 
so much, and Hubert has had no one to keep him company; and 
when I am with him, I am too tired and stupid to talk to him 
or amuse him. Sometimes I have fancied that he thought 
me cross, and all the time it was only this miserable sinking.’ 

‘ Men are so stupid,’ I began wrathfully ; but at that mo- 
ment there was a heavy step in the dressing-room, and Hubert, 
hearing voices, came in to know who was keeping Kitty awake. 

‘ It is only Olga,’ said Kitty apologetically; ‘ she came in to 
wish me good-night.’ 

‘And has been chattering and disturbing you' for the last 
half-hour,’ he remarked severely. ‘ What will be the use of 
my taking you to a physician, Kitty, if you refuse to take the 
slightest care of yourself ? Dr. Langham begged you in my 
hearing to be in bed by ten o’clock, and it is now nearly 
eleven; and you are not attempting to go to sleep.’ 

'I thought I told you, Hubert, that it was impossible for 
me to sleep,’ she returned reproachfully. 

‘ Of course it is impossible if yoti do not try,’ he replied des 
cidedly; and seeing him in this authoritative mood, Kitty 
merely sighed wearily, and gave up the contest by closing her 
eyes; but that flushed feverish face did not look like sleep. 
‘ There’s a good little woman,’ returned Hubert, restored to 
good humor by this readv obedience; and then he followed 
me out of the room; 

‘ You 'meant it kindly, Olga,’ he said, as he lighted my 


820 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


eandle; ^but Kitty’s nerves are in such a state that she can- 
not be kept too quiet. Rest and sleep and plenty of nourish- 
ment^ — ^that was what Dr. Langham ordered, and a very ex- 
cellent prescription, too ; and what Kitty wants with another 
physician passes my comprehension. I wish Miss Sefton 
had minded her own business ’ — rather crossly. 

^ I am very glad you have made up your mind to take her,’ 
was my bold reply. ^ I don’t want to worry you, Hubert, you 
have trouble enough; but I think Kitty is worse than you 
think. It is not only her nerves : there must be some cause 
for this weakness; she is very uneasy about herself.’ 

^ Of course she is uneasy if you all talk to her about her 
health,’ he returned doggedly. ‘ Miss Sefton has put this 
London doctor in her head, and I shall have no peace until I 
take her. He will just laugh at us for our pains, and seive 
us all right, too ; it is a clear case of nerves. She has over- 
tired herself with the children; and she has never been strong 
since little Flo was born. I shall have to be more strict with 
her for the future; ’ and so saying he marched off. 

Poor Hubert! as though he could disguise his aiixiety from 
me! All the time he was arguing about Kitty’s nerves, I 
could see how he was watching me to know if I agreed with 
him. Kitty was right; he was blinding himself purposely. I 
went to bed that night with a heavy heart, for what would 

Hubert do if Kitty But even to myself I could not 

finish the sentence 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 
don’t look like a squire’s lady.’ 

* Could ye‘ bless him, father — mother. 

Bless the dimple in his cheek? 

Dare ye look at one another, 

Ana the benediction speak ? 

Would ye not break out in weeping 
And confess yourselves too weak ? ’ 

Mr.s. Browninq. 

Aunt Catherine had begged me to spend the following after- 
noon with Mrs. Lyndhurst, as she and Mr. Basil would be 
away the whole day. When the time came, I left Kitty very 
unwillingly. There had been a return of faintness during 
the morning. Kurse told me her mistress had not closed her 


BON^T LOOK LIKE A SQUIEE^S LADY: 321 

eyes ail night; but she had insisted on getting up at her usual 
hour to prevent Mr. Leigh from being anxious. ‘I left her 
lying on the drawing-room couch looking miserably ill and 
dj^pressed,and Hubert sitting by her with a pile of new maga- 
zines he was cutting for her amusement. I. could hear him 
laughing as he explained some amusing picture to her, and 
^ ’ I trving to echo him; but there was not a 



Mrs. Lyndhurst was sitting in the garden7 and Eeggie was 
v/ith her; and we spent a very happy afternoon. I was so 
delighted to have my darling to myself * again. We played 
our old games with Rollo, even enacting ^ Mrs. Howl in the 
ivy-bush.^ Eeggie laughed so excessively that I caught hiin 
again and again without difficulty. His only complaint was 
that there was no swing to rest in — by swing he meant the 
hammock; so his grandmother promised to buy him one, and 
we settled where to hang it. 

We had our tea in the oia English garden, and Eeggie 
fetched Peter; and with Eollo, the pug, and‘ the two peacocks, 
we were a goodly company. Eeggie looked like a lovely little 
picture as he fed the gorgeous creatures; and the background 
of sunflowers was like • a golden hedge behind him. Eeggie 
always went to bed early; and as soon as Marsden had carried 
him off, we went indoors, as Mrs. Lyndhurst was tired. When 
Eeggie bade her good-night, I noticed how often and how/ 
passionately she kissed him. Eeggie noticed it, too. 

‘Why do you kiss me so hard and so many times^ Gran?^ 
he asked, fixing his eyes very seriously on her/ 

‘ The kisses are not all for you, my darling,^ she answered! 
tenderly. ‘ I meant them for another little boy, whose mother 
never gave him any;^ and then she sighed heavily, and bade 
him go with Marsden; and we both knew what she meant, 
and how even her love for this sweet, engaging little creature 
was mixed up with unextinguishable. remorse that her own 
child should have missed so much., 

I chided her geptly for this sadness; but she only shook her] 
head with a melancholy smile. 

‘It must be so, Olga. I try not to be morbid; but the 
knowledge of all he has lost seems a barrier between us even 
now. Basil is very generous; he wants me to forget— he tries 
to forget himself — but sometimes, when the child is on my 
lap, I know what Basil thinks, and then I can hardly keep; 
myself from asking his forgiveness over again.^ 

You must never do that ; it would only embarrass nim.^ 

‘ No, I must be patient ; he is very dear and good, I have 


21 


822 THE BE ARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURBT. 


only myself to thank that he cannot be all a son should be to 
his mother; he thinks too much before he speaks; he is too 
much afraid of hurting me; he pronounces my name almost 
timidly; and the least caress on my part seems to trouble 
him. If he could only speak to me as he does to Catherine I 
Why, he was quite impatient with her this morning because 
she kept him waiting, and he feared they would lose the 
train.^ 

^And you want him to be impatient with you ? ^ 

She could not help smiling at such a question. 

^ It almost sounds like it, does it not ? I think I should 
not mind, if he were only at his ease with me; in other re- 
spects his behavior is perfect.^ 

* But surely you are happy now! ^ I remonstrated; for I had 
a youthful impatience of this morbid iteration. 

^ I am happy when Basil is with me,^ she returned. ^ It is 
only in the night, when I lie awake, that I think of the life- 
time I have lost — all those years — those miserable years; and 
he wints me to forget — as though a mother could ever bury 
the past. Do you think’ — looking at me with a sort of 
strained eagerness — ^that he will ever love me as he does 
Catherine ? ’ 

^ Some day he will love you more.’ 

^Oh, my dear, how you comfort me! If I could only be- 
lieve that, I should be happy indeed ! How many days has 
he been with me ? — only five ; and yet I worship the ground 
he walks on. But I must not tell him so — oh no, it would 
not be well ’ 

^ Mrs. Lyndhurst,’ I said, checking her, for I found it diffi- 
cult to sustain the conversation, ^ do you think they will be 
back soon ? I meant to have left you an hour ago. Hark! 
is not that the carriage turning in at the gate ? ’ and I rose 
in a fiurried manner. 

Aunt Catherine had not asked me to stay until their return, 
and they had come back earlier than I expected. 

^Kever mind; you must stay to supper now. Wltet does it 
matter, child ? you are one of us,’ replied Mrs. Lyndhurst, 
pressing my arm kindly, as we stood together at the window, 
looking down the avenue. 

Yes, there were the bays, and there was Aunt Catherine 
waving her hand to us. But who was that lady in the gray 
hat beside her ? The next moment Mrs. Lyndhurst caught 
hold of me. 

^ That is Basil’s wife ! ’ she said, in a quicTk, agitated man- 
ner. ^ Olga, I must go to the door to receive my son’s wife. 


BON^T LOOK LIKE A SQUIRE^S LADY: 323 

Como, my dear; come and help me £o welcome her;^ and, 
half unwillingly, I followed her into the hall. 

‘Basil, there is your mother,^ I heard Aunt Catherine say; 
and from her voice I knew she was exceedingly nervous. And 
then Mr. Basil turned round quickly and saw us. He looked 
rather pale as he came into the hall, with a 'tall, handsome- 
looking woman beside him, 

‘ Mother,^ he said, in a very low voice, ‘ we havo brought 
Aline back with us; Aunt Catherine thought it would bo 
better.^ 

‘ Yon have done quite right, Basil. My dear, you are Tory 
welcome. I hope you will soon feel at home with us; and 
she kissed her on the cheek. 

1 think young Mrs. Lyndhurst was hardly prepared for this 
demonstration, for she flushed up, and looked at her husband. 

No one noticed me in this little scene, and I regained tha 
drawing-room unperceived ; but they followed me almost di- 
rectly. Mrs. Lyndhurst was holding her daughter-in-law^s 
hand. She placed her on the couch beside her, and asked her 
to remove her hat. As she did so, the elastic got entangled 
with her hair, and I went to her assistance. She looked at 
me in an odd, penetrating way, as she thanked me. There 
was no want of civility in her tone, but I thought her manner 
cold. She was certainly very handsome, only it was a sort of 
heavy, statuesque beauty that did not attract me; and there 
was no animation in her face or voice. 

‘This is our young friend, Olga Leigh,^ observed Mrs. 
Lyndhurst ; ‘ we are all very fond of her.^ 

And then Mrs. Basil looked at me again in the same grave, 
penetrating way; but she did not smile or hold out her hand. 

Involuntarily I drew back, a little chilled at this reception. 
I wondered how Mrs. Lyndhurst could talk on in that gentle, 
kindly manner, questioning her about her journey, and re- 
ceiving in return only those monosyllabic replies. But per- 
haps the poor thing was frightened to death at finding herself 
among all these strangers. 

‘ I am sure Aline is tired, Basil,* observed Aunt Catherine, 
breaking into tliis melancholy little duet. 

‘ You are wrong; I am never tired,* replied Mrs. Basil. She 
did not speak abruptly, but in a slow, meditative way; and 
then she added : ‘ There is nothing in such a little journey to 
tire me.* 

‘ I am glad that you are so strong,* returned Mrs. Lyndhurst 
kindly; ‘good health is a great blessing.* 

‘ Oh yes, I am strong; nothing ails me,* 


824 THE SEARCH FOR BA^IL LYHRHURST. 

And then again there was an awkward silence, only I no- 
ticed Mrs. Basil was looking about her in an odd way, as 
though she missed something. Of course, ifc was no business 
of mine to interfere, but I felt so sorry for them all. Mr, 
Basil was watching his wife so anxiously, and Aunt Catherine 
looked flushed and tired. If I could only help them! With- 
out thinking, I acted on the impulse of the moment — in a 
thoroughly Olga-like way. 

^ You are looking for Eeggie,^ I said, in a low voice;- ^he 
went to bed an hour ago. He was quite tired out with play. 
¥/ould you like to see him asleep ? I will take you to him^ 
—the last words prompted by the intense eagerness in her 
eyes. There was no lack of animation now; she looked su- 
perbly handsome. 

^ Yes, let us go to him,^ she returned, rising. And then 
she looked at her husband. ^ I may go with this young lady 
to see Keggie, may I not ? ^ 

But before he could answer Mrs. Lyndhurst interposed: 
^ My dear, this is your home; there is no need to ask permission 
for anything. Go v/ith Olga,, by all means; it is a good thought 
of hers;^ and we left the room at once. 

As Mr. Basil opened th3 door for us, I asked him, in a 
whisper, if 1 had done wrong, would he go instead of me ? 
but ne only shook his head and drew back. I felt a little un- 
comfortable, and persisted. 

^No, no; I would much rather have things as they are. I 
am only too grateful to you for proposing it;^ and he went 
back into the room, and I rejoined Mrs. Basil, who was wait- 
ing for me at the foot of the stairs. 

VWhat were you saying to him she asked, looking at me 
inquisitively. 

1 was rather surprised at the question, but replied that I 
had only asked if he would take my place. 

^ You need not have said that to him — it is better as it is,^ 
was her strange answer. ^ I am ever so much obliged to you 
for getting me out of that room • I thought I should be suffo- 
cated with all those questions. George never asks me ques- 
tions. But there, come along. I shall feel anyhow until I 
have had a look at Eeggie.^ 

I kept my astonishment to myself, and took her to the 
room where Eeggie was sleeping. Marsden was just leaving 
him. Mrs. Ba^l took no notice of her respectful salutation; 
she almost pushed past her in her eagerness to see her child. 

It must have been a lovely sight to any mother’s eyes. 
Reggie looked almost angelic in his sleep ; he had thrown off 


‘J DOIPT. LOOK LIKE A SQUIKKS LADT: i-^25 

the coverings ; his dear little face was pillowed on one arm, 
the other nung over Peter, who was curled up besido' him; 
his dong lashes drooped over his flushed cheeks. . 

,I heard a caught breath, almost like, a sob. To my surprise 
the tears were coursing down Mrs. BasiPs face. 

^ The little darling! How beautiful he looks! But what 
have they done with your hair, Eeggie ? Some one has cut off 
my baby’s hair and never told his mother! ’ 

^ They were obliged to do it/ I whispered. ^ Please do not 
wake him, he is sleeping so soundly. He was ill — very ill; 
and the doctor said it must be done, and Aunt Catherine was 
obliged to do it.’ 

^ Yes, I know — he was ill — ^he might have died, and no one 
would have told me. His mother would have been the last 
to hear it; and it is this sort of thing I mast bear, and say 
nothing.’ And then, sinking on her knees beside the bed. 
she covered him with soft, noiseless kisses. ^ My pretty boy! 
My darling Keg!’ I heard her say over and over again. 

I did not like to disturb her, so I left the room as quietly 
as. possible, and waited outside in the corridor. Every now 
and then I could hear her murmuring fond words over him. 
With all her faults, Mrs. Basil certainly loved her child. 

As I stood there looking down into the cool, fragrant old 
garden. Aunt Catherine came upstairs and joined me. 

^ Where is Aline ? ’ she whispered. 

^ I have left her with Reggie. Please do not disturb her; 
she is very much upset, and of course she wants to be alone 
with her child.’ 

^ We cannot leave her much longer, I afraid,’ she replied 
uneasily. ^ Basil will be up directly, and he will want her to 
be ready before the gong sounds. Has she taken to you at 
all, Olga ? Do you thinK she will let you help her ? ’ 

do not know,’ I returned dubiously; ^but I will try what 
I can do;’ and I.went back into the room. 

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, still watching Reg- 
gie, but she was not crying now. There was a profound mel- 
ancholy in her whole aspect — something in thjat drooping, 
grand-looking figure and finely-moulded head reminded me 
of a Mater Dolorosa I had once seen. She did not speak or 
move as I approached her. 

^It is very late,’ I said quietly; ‘^and in a few minutes the 
gong will sound for supper. Will you let mo ehow you to 
your room, and then perhaps I can help you ?’ 

‘Whose room is this?’ she asked, starting and looking 
round her. 


826 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LTHDHURST. 


, ^ I believe it is Mr. BasiFs dressing-roofti. There is no time 
to show you your sitting-room now. This is your bedroom/ 
beckoning to her; and she rose reluctantly and followed me.* 
I thought sho looked round the spacious, handsomely-furnished 
room with an air of distaste. 

‘ What a big place ! I shall have room to breathe/ she re-’ 
marked, but 1 could not tell whether with simplicity or sar*-* 
casm. ^ And what grand windows!^. She walked to one of 
them and looked out rather absently ; but on my reminding 
her again of the time, sho regarded me with a puzzled stare. 

‘ I am sure I do not know what I am to do/ she said, rather 
defiantly. ^You seem to be expecting me to make a fine 
toilet, but I have no better gown than the one Fve got on; 

and if that does not please you ^ she walked up to a pief- 

glass as she spoke, and looked at herself from head to foot. 
^ I am afraid I don^t look like a squire^s lady/ she went on, 
^in this dowdy gown/ with a hard little laugh; Mt was 
George^s favorite— -he had a fancy for gray; but it is not 
BasiFs taste; he told me so as we came along.^ 

‘Nevermind about to-night/. I replied cheerfully; ‘I have 
not changed my dress either.^ 

‘ Oh, white always looks smart! To my mind you are qqita 
fit for a party. Do you live here. Miss - — ? There, I nave 
forgot your name.^ 

‘ Do I live at the Hall — is that what you mean 

She nodded. 

‘ Oh no; I live at Fircroft, a little lower dowr the village. 
My brother is the clergyman, and I live with him. You 
asked me my name just now; it is Olga Leigh, but I should 
like you to call me Olga.' 

‘ I am sure I don't mind, though it is a strange, outlandish 
sort of name; for I feel more at home with you, somehow, 
than I did with the old ladies downstairs.' The idea of her 
calling my dear Aunt Catherine an old lady ! ‘And you did 
me a good turn, bringing me up to see Eeggie. Would you 
believe it ? — Basil would have kept me talking there another 
hour before he would have remembered I was dying to see 
the boy.' 

I found this confidence embarrassing, so I changed tliQ 
subject by ofiering her some yellovr chrysanthemums, set with 
dark leaves, and suggesting they would look well on her gray 
dress.. She took them with an air of indifterence, and ad- 
justed them carelessly. I noticed she had no rings on her 
lar^ shapely hands with the exception of her wedding-ring. 
Her hair was very nicely arranged in smooth coils that Just 


‘J DON^T LOOK LIKE A SQUIRKS LARt.^ S27 

suited her peculiar style. She did not seem to notice my in- 
spection ; she only spoke twice again : once to remark on the 
fineness of the towel she was using, and which seemed to sur- 
prise her ; and the other was h comment on the number of 
looking-glasses. 

‘ Rich people seem fond of looking at themselves/ she said, 
a little disdainfully. 

1 hurried her downstairs at last; they were waiting for us. 
Mr. Basil at once gave his arm to his -mother, and Aunt Cath- 
erine took his wife. I do not believe Mrs. Basil would have 
opened her lips to join in the conversation if it had not been 
for Aunt Catherine, for Mrs. Lyndhurst looked too much ex- 
hausted to resume her soft Questioning; but Aunt Catherine 
talked on manfully. I saw Mr. Basil make a sign to her onco 
when Bennet was going to fill his wife’s glass with champagne, 
and with ready tact she leant forward and addressed her. 

‘ You are a water-drinker, are you not, my dear ? ^ she said 
£n the quietest manner. ‘Bennet, Mrs. Basil never takes 
anything but water. I dare say she would like some of our 
nice home-made lemonade; it is such a cool, refreshing drink.^ 

I did not hear Mrs. Basil’s answer, but I saw the crimson 
blood rise to her forehead, and she seemed as though she 
could not eat another morsel. I felt almost as ashamed my- 
self, and yet no one could have noticed anything in Aunt 
Catherine's manner. I did not stay long after supper. Jem 
had not come for me, so I asked Aunt Catherine in a low 
voice if one of the servants might walk with me. I was 
rather sorry that Mr. Basil overheard this remark, for he at 
once insisted on being my escort, and rather than make a 
fuss, I was obliged to submit. Mrs. Basil was sitting bolt 
upright on the couch beside her mother-in-law. She opened 
her eyes — such lovely eyes they were* very widely as I wished 
her good-night. 

‘Why, how early you are going! Has Basil asked to walk 
with you ? ’ 

‘Yes; there was no need. One of the servants would have 
gone with me, but I generally have my brother. I hope you 
do not mind my taking him ? * 

‘ No one ever thought of asking me such a question before, 
she replied in a voice that made Mrs. Lyndhurst look at ua 
both in mild surprise. ‘ Basil always pleases himself. I sup- 
pose you will be here to-morrow ? ^ 

‘I do not know; I am not sure/ quite confused at tliis, for 
Mr. Basil could hear every word. 

‘You will come if Aline wants you, will you not Olga?^' 


828 THB SEARCH FOR BASIL' L YNBHURST. 


interposed Aunt Catherine briskly. ^ Eun across to-morrow 
afternoo xs soon as the children nave finished luncheon, and 
then you can stay to tea.-^ 

And as I could not think of any plausible excuse to prevent 
my complying with this, I was obliged to acquiesce. 

I confess Mr. Basil’s first words as we walked down the 
avenue took me by surprise. 

^ Aline has taken a fancy to you. Miss Leigh,^ 

^ To me! What should put such an idea into your head ? ’ 

* Why, it was pretty evident, was it not ? ’ And though it 
was quite dark under the trees, I could tell he was smiling. 
* She scarcely opened her lips to any one else ; and then she 
wanted you to come to-morrow.’ 

^ Do you think so ? ’ 

am sure of it. Aline is not a woman of many words. 
What she says she means. You won her heart by taxing her 
up to see Eeggie. I was a fool not to think of it myself.’ 

‘ She is certainly very fond of him.’ 

^ She has not seen the little chap for so long, and he has 
been ill; but she is not always ready to take notice of him.’ 
He stopped, as though he had said too much, and then con- 
tinued in a different tone : ^ I am afraid my mother and Aline 
have not quite hit it off this evening. Does it not strike you 
that my mother seems depressed ? ’ 

^ Not more than usual. I mean her spirits are always varia- 
ble. I think, if you will pardon me for s^ing so, that you 
are judging too hastily; it is all so strange and new for your 
wife. Somehow I feel very sorry for her to-night.’ 

^ You think she is to,be'pitied ? ’ and I am sure there was a 
little pique in his tone. 

^ Oh, not in that way, at least,’ feeling that I was beginning 
rather awkwardly ; ' I am afraid you are misunderstanding me/ 
would not do that for worlds,’ he replied gently. ‘ Will 
you tell me what you really do mean ? ’ 

^ Well, then, I feel sorry for Mrs. Basil because all her sur- 
roundings are so strange to her. She has never seen even 
your mother and Aunt Catherine; and though they are so 
kind to her, she finds it difficult to open her heart to them. 
Their conversation oppresses her; they have nothing in com- 
mon ; she has not been brought up in their way, and every 
moment she is afraid of offending their prejudices. She did 
not tell me this, but I can read it in her looks and silence.’ 

^Aline is generally silent; but you are right. When, in- 
deed, have I ever found you wrong ? ' Did she — did .^ine 
interest you ? ’ 


‘J DOITT LOOK LIKE A SQUIRES LADY: 829 

^ Very much;^ but I wondered a little at the queBtion. 

^ I ask that because I fear to trespass on your goodness ; but 
if it would net trouble you too much, would you — should you 
very much mind giving her as much of your company as 
possible ? ^ 

^ You wish me to be friends with your wife ? ^ 

^That is my meaning, certainly, if it would not tax your 
kindness too severely. I know how good it would be for Aline 
to have such a friend; it would be good for her — do you not 
think so ? ^ turning to me abruptly. 

I thought his manner strange. He did not seem quite like 
himself to-night; there was a sort of constraint abovit him, 
as though he were not at his ease; it was the first time he 
had ever spoken to me of his wife, and he seemed afraid of 
saying much. I told him in answer that I would gladly do 
ail I could to make Mrs. Basil feel ‘ at home with us all, and 
that as 1 was nearer her age, she would most likely talk to me 
with more openness than she would to Aunt Catherine. In 
return he thanked mo very gratefully, but still in the same 
guarded manner. It struck me then that he was feeling his 
position intensely, and that it required all his man’s strength 
to keep his uneasiness to himself. I could not help thinking 
how sad it must be for any man — and especially one so proud 
and sensitive as Mr. Basil — to be tied for life to a woman 
whom he could not respect, and who repelled him by her 
strange sullenness. 

In spite of my sympathy, I thought it better to ch&nge the 
subject; so I began talking about Kitty, and in a moment hia 
old friendliness returned. 

‘I am not surprised at your anxiety,’ he said frankly. 
^ Indeed, I can only wonder at your brother’s cheerfuluj^ss* 
He must surely see that his wife is seriously ill.’ 

‘ Oh, not seriously ! Please do not use that word.’ 

^ Very much out of health, then; but, of course, a clever 
doctor will soon put her to rights. Do you know. Miss Leigh, 
this is the first time I have had an opportunity of telling you 
>.ow much I like your brother Jem. Do you remember how 
you used to talk about him at St. Croix?’ 

‘ You like Jem ? ’ in a tone of intense surprise. 

^ You seem astonished. Why should I not like a bright, 
clever fellow like Leigh ? ’ 

^ You do not seem to take to each other,’ I stammered, as 
Jem’s ridiculous sobriquet of the Don came to my recollec- 
tion. 

* Oh, he is a little on his dignity with me; I grant you that. 


830 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 


Some of the best fellows in the world are not easy to know at 
first. Most likely he has not taken to me.^. 

‘ I don^t know why yon should say that/ growing very hot 
over this little fib ; hut Mr. .Basil only laughed. 

^Oh, we shall hit it off presently, I. dare say; and now, just 
as we are talking about him, there he comes. I thought I 
heard Eollo’s bark a minute ago.^ 

It was a great relief to my mind to hear the friendly way 
in which the two young men accosted each other. My lecture 
had done Jem good. I could detect neither stiffness nor 
hauteur in his manner. He spoke cordially, thanked Mr. 
Basil for his escort, and apologized to me in the nicest way 
for being so late. I gave his arm a little squeeze as a mark 
of commendation, and I was still more pleased when Mr. Basil 
turned of his own accord and walked with us to the door. I 
kept Jem in the porch a long time while I told him about 
Mrs. Basil. 

He seemed much interested, and did not disturb me by any 
tiresome interruptions. 

^And she is very handsome ? ^ 

^Undeniably so. There cannot be two opinions about it. 
She is a grandJooking woman, and her eyes are beauLiful.^ 

^ He had some excuse, then/ • 

^ Yes, of course; every one says so. But, Jem, she does not 
make him happy; there is no happiness in her face.’ 

^ Well, that is not your business, nor mine either/ was Jem’s 
tinsympathizing retort; ^so don’t you go poking your inquisi- 
tive little nose, such a ridiculous nose as it is, too, into other 
folks’ matrimonial concerns, or you will get scorched for your 
pains. I don’t want you to come to me with Oh,. Jem, it 
hurts!” eh, Olga?’ 

But, as usual, when he teased me with this babyish reminis- 
cence, I ran after him and boxed his ears. 

Unfortunately, Eollo barked a shrill, joyous bark, and then 
Hubert came out of the study and asked what we meant by 
waking up Kitty and the children. Dear me ! how old and 
grave Hubert was growing! and if Eollo did bark, there was 
no need to speak so severely. I told Jem so; but be silenced 
my grumbling in a minute. 

^ Poor beggar ! ’ he said in a pitying tone,’ ^ he is a bit low 
to-night about his little woman. Kilty was rather hysterical 
before she went to bed because cook gave warning; so there 
was a precious- row. Hubert scolded the cook, and brought 
her to reason; and then he told Kitty she was a baby to take 
such a thing to hearty and he ended by carrying her up to bed. 


TEE LADY GWEEDOLIEE^ ROOM. 


831 


for the poor little thing was all of a tremlle, as nurse says; 
and he has been as glum as possible ever since.’ 

^Oh, Jem, I am so sorry that Eollo made all that noise! I 
will go in and tell him. so.^ 

" You will do nothing of the kind/ replied Jem, taking hold 
oi me in his rough way. ^ I won^t have the poor old man 
bothered. Just go to bed, and don’t let us see vou again until 
morning/ 

And with this polite injunction, Jem took off Eollo to his 
sleeping-quarters. 


CHAPTEE XXXV. 

THE LADY GWEITDOLINE’s ROOK, 

‘ I have much need of good advice.’ 

Sir Walter Scott. > 

* I love that beauty should go beautifully.’ 

Temnysojt, 

I entertained Kitty the next morning by giving her a 
graphic account of young Mrs. Lyndhurst’s reception. She 
was greatly interested, and so Was Hubert; for she made me 
repeat it all over again for his benefit. 

^ The ladies have been so kind to you, Olga, that I think 
you ought to help them as much as possible/ she said in her 
sensible way ; and as Hubert indorsed this * opinion, I went 
off to spend the afternoon at the Hall, and with the com- 
fortable consciousness that I was doing my duty. 

I found Aunt Catherine writing business letters in the 
library. She looked up with quite a relieved air as I entered. 

^ I am so glad you have come, dear/ she said warmly; ^ Aline 
has been asking for you half a dozen times. She is rather 
tired, and has gone up to the Lady’s Eoom to rest; ’ for the 
quaint, bay-windowed room that had been set apart for Mrs. 
Basil’s use was always called the Lady’s Eoom, in memory of 
the unfortunate Lady Gwendoline. 

' How have you got on j^his morning ? ’ I asked a little curi- 
ously. 

^ I hardly know,’ with a thoughtful air. ^ Aline talks very 
little, and it is difficult to break through her reserve. We 
were obliged to leave her to Basil at last. He has been be- 
having like a model husband ail the morning. He has taken 


332 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


her over the ho se and shown her everything, and they were 
out in the garden a long time with Reggie. Basil is there 
now with the child ; but the worst of it is that I cannot find 
out whether she is pleased or not. She looks at everything, 
but nothing, seems to interest her much. Virginia asked her 
at luncheon what she thought of the Hall, and she only said 
“ it was a big place, and very old, and that she thought it 
must be dull in winter.^^ She has taken a dislike to the rooks; 
she owned to Basil that she hated their harsh caws.’ 

This did not sound very promising; Aunt Catherine’s grave 
manner said more than her words. Mrs. Basil had evidently 
repelled their efforts at intimacy. What a strange young 
woman she must be! I ^sked if Reggie had been with her 
all the morning. 

^ Yes, I believe so; he is always with Basil, you know; but 
I cannot see that she takes much notice of him. No, indeed ’ 
— as I looked astonished at this. ^ She never once kissed him. 
or spoke to him while I was in the room, and the child never 
went to her of his ov/n accord. I confess I am a little dis- 
heartened, and Virginia is even more so, for wo do want to 
make her happy with us.’ 

^ Dear Aunt Catherine, it is so trying for you.’ 

^ I think she looks upon us as old people. She was quite 
surprised to hear how far I could walk, and that I took so 
much exercise; but I must not go on chattering. Basil has 
been hindering me, and I have half a dozen letters to write 
before post-time. You had better run up to the Toady’s Room 
now, and see if you can induce Aline to be a little more 
sociable.’ 

I obeyed reluctantly. Alas ! my long easy afternoons with 
Aunt Catherine already belonged to the past. The Hall 
would be a different place to me now. I knocked at the door, 
but as no one bade me enter, I turned the handle and went 
in. Mrs. Basil was sitting in the bay-window— it had a cir- 
cular cushioned seat — her hands were listlessly folded in her 
l.ip. Reggie was evidently playing in the garden beneath, for 
I heard his laugh as I closea the door. I think she had been 
watching him, but she rose directly she saw me. 

^ So you’ve come,’ she said abruptly. ^ I have been looking 
for you this last hour; I was beginning to think you were 
not going to keep your word ; I told Basil so. Aren’t you 
going to take off your hat and stop a bit ?’ 

^Oh yes, if you wish it;’ and I proceeded to unbutton my 
gloves. 

^ Do you always wear white ? ’ was her next remark. 


THE LADY GWENDOLINE'S ROOM. 833 

I thought it; a E^ngnlar one. She had not shaken hands, 
but in her own way she seemed disposed to friendliness. 

‘I^ot always/ I replied; ‘washing is expensive, even in the 
country; but Aunt Catherine likes me best in white, so I try 
to please her.^ 

‘Why do you call her that ? ^ she went on still more abruptly, 
‘ She is not a relation of yours, is she ? ^ 

‘ No/ I replied, coloring; ‘ but I have been v sed to call her 
Aunt Catherine ever since I was a child. I think I love her 
better than any one else except my brothers —brother, I was 
going to say.^ 

‘ I suppose you are one of those who attach themselves 
easily ? ^ she replied, giving me at the same time a searching 
glrnce that made me extremely uncomfortable. ‘I wish I 
were like you in that respect, but one can only act up to one^s 
own nature. I was never very soft, except to Basil, but he 
had a way with him; and though I acted like the biggest fool 
that ever lived, I could not help myself.^ 

‘ I suppose not. What a pretty room this is, Mrs. Lynd- 
hurst ! and this window is so delightful ! ’ 

‘ Why don^t you say Aline ? I am not used to the other 
name, and it sounds stiff from a girl like you. You are ever 
so much younger than me, aren’t you ? I am sure you look 
so.’ 

‘ I am twenty.’ 

‘And I am eight-and-twenty — going on for nine-and- 
twenty, that is. George says I look half a dozen years older 
than Basil; but that is because I have gown so stout. I was 
quite slim when he first took up with me.’ 

‘ You are not really stout/ for the word did not suit her finj 
massive proportion in the least. I saw my remark pleased her, 

‘ Don’t go away with the idea that I am vain/ she said, actu- 
ally smiling; -but I want to ask you a question. Do you 
think, does any one think, that I am handsome ? ’ 

I wondered what Aunt Catherine Would have said if she 
!_ad heard her! 

‘ Certainly; every one thinks so. How could they help it ?’ 
for I was answering her question as simply as she put it. 

She brightened up still more. 

‘ I never could get George to tell me. He always said “ I 
was well enough;” but that did not satisfy me. Now Basil 
has been worrying me half the morning to go up to town 
with his aunt, and order some new gowns; for, as he says, the 
under-housemaid is dressed better than me, and he wants me 
to look my best. Now just tell me the truth : Do you think 


884 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 

all the tine dresses in the world would make me look like a 
real lady, like my inother-in-law or Miss Sefton ? ^ 

•It would be impossible to describe my feelings as. she put 
this singular question. I hardly dared to look at her as I 
answered her^ I began to think Mr. Basihs shrewdness was 
not at fault, and that this strange, impulsive woman nlust 
have, taken a fancy to me, or she would never have spoken 
to me with such frankness. 

^ I think you would look very nice ! ^ I stammered ; ^ that 
you have no idea how nice you would look;’ and then I con- 
tinued more boldly : ^ I know it is strange that dress should 
make such a difference, but it is true, nevertheless; every one 
says so ; ^ and as I uttered this oracular remark, I could not 
helji thinking how one of Mrs. Basil’s velvet gowns would set 
off her large massive beauty, and what a sensation she would 
make in the country. 

^ Do you really mean what you. say ?’ she returned eagerly; 
* then I will have a try — I mean, I xnW try to look my best. 
I am afraid ’—flushing slightly — ‘ that living with George has 
not improved me; he is not careful about his words, and one 
gets into bad ways. When Basil was with me, I managed 
better;*’ and as she made this naive apology, I noticed that 
though her voice was deep, it was very full and sweet,, and 
that she spoke without any unpleasant accent. No, there was 
nothing vulgar about her, only a slight want of culture that, 
perhaps, time might mend. 

^ Well, then, I may as well go up to town to-morrow and 
see about my clothes,’ she went on; 'and supposing you come 
with me ? There is.no need to trouble Basil’s aunt.’ 

‘ But I am not so experienced,’ I remonstrated,. ' and Aunt 
Catherine has such good taste; she would help you far better.’ 

' Oh, there will be no need of help,’ she replied rather de- 
cidedly; 'if we go to a good place wo shall do very v^ell. I 
know exactly what suits me; and if lam in doubt, I am 
pretty sure to know what Basil would like. He is wonder- 
fully particular about ladies’ dress; so you had better mako 
up your mind for a day’s outing.’ 

'Very well,’ I answered rather reluctantly; for though I 
loved shopping with Aunt Catherine, I felt this would be 
quite different; still, I was sure, in my own mind, that the 
ladies would wish me to accept any overture on Mrs. Basil’s 
part. 

She* did not seem to notice my unwillingness; and we 
talked a little more. Dress is an exhaustive subject, and we 
both found plenty to say about it. She was a little absent 12, 


THE LADY QWENDOLINKS ROOM, 835 

her manner sometimes; and once, to attract her attention, I 
called her Aline; and she .turned round at once with such a 
sweet smile. 

‘That is nice of you,^ she said heartily; ‘nothing pleases 
me better than to take me at my word, for I always mean 
what I say. It is odd, our getting on so well together, isnT 
it ? For, as I told you just now, I am seldom soft with people ; 
but I shall not forget in a hurry that you were the only one 
who understood me yesterday. You got me out of that room 
so cleverly when I Avas pent up to that degree I could hardly 
breathe, with all those eyes on me, and Basil watching me, as 
though he were afraid I should do something dreadful. It 
never entered his head that I was pining for a sight of my 
boy." 

‘ He had forgotten for the moment, and he knew Keggie 
was asleep. Aline, you have never told me how you like your 
new home ? " for there was a cloud on her brow that I was 
anxious to dispel. 

‘ They asked me that at dinner — I mean luncheon; but I 
could not answer them. It is a grand place, of course; only 
I feel lost in it, somehow. I think it hurts me to see Basil 
looking so much at home and as though everything belonged 
to him, and he had never been used to anything else; while 
I am not fit to take my proper place beside him." 

‘ Oh, you Avill soon take it; you will soon get used to things, 
too." 

But she shook he* head. 

‘ I have not been brought up among gentlefolks, as Basil 
has. Oh, I have seen his friendtv— fine. Oxford men, and that 
Mr. Fleming who educated him; b-.t I cc ild not get on with 
one of them. Basil was never so nice to me when his friends 
were with us; he was always more fault-finding and im- 
patient." 

‘But surely you are pleased with this lovely room!" I ex- 
claimed. looking round with girlish admiration. 

I think I had never seen a room that pleased me better. The 
carved cabinets; the small Indian tables inlaid with curious 
woods ; the quaint portraits of Seftoii ladies in oval frames ; 
the old-fahsioned couch and easy-chairs — all harmonized so 
well with the oak-pan ellirg. In this room the hapless Gwen- 
doline must have sat like Mariana at the moated Grange, with 
the same words on her lips : 

* Old faces glimmered through the doers. 

Old footsteps trod the upper floors, 

Old voices called her from without ; 


836 THE JEABCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

Shft only said, “ My life is dreary ; 

He coraeth not,” she said; 

She said, “I’m aweary, aweary ; 

I would that I were dead ! ” ’ • 

As I spoke, Aline raised herself, and looked at it all rather 
indifferently. 

^ Oh yes, I liked this room best in the house. Basil said 
he chose it for me because it was so quiet. There is one 
thing about it that does not feuit me — I hear those horrid 
rooks so plainly.^ 

am sorry yoii dislike them; they are Auiit Catherine’s 
favorite pensioners.’ 

^ Oh, I must put up with what I don’t like. Basil seemed 
disappointed because I told him that I would rather be back 
in the little cottage at Highgate; but th?^ cottage or Hall, 
it is all the same, if one must take one’s self everywhere. If 
v/e could only get rid of ourselves ! ^ rather gloomily. 

At^that moment Marsden came to say that tea was waiting 
in the drawing-room. 

^ Couldn’t we have it up here, Olga ? ’ interposed Aline, with 
a shrug. ^ It will be so dull in that big room downstairs.’ 

* I think we had better go,’ I returned quickly. ^ I have 
not spoken to Mrs. Lyndhurst; and she and Aunt Catherine 
will be expecting us.’ 

^ Oh, do as you like,’ she replied, rather sulkily; and I half 
repented my decision. 

It was too late to retract, however; but I felt intensely ag- 
gravated to see how Aline, resumed her cold, indifferent air 
the moment she entered the drawing-room. She greeted her 
husband without a smile when he came to meet us with a 
pleasant inq^uiry as to the manner in which we had spent the 
afternoon; indeed, she left me to answer him, and sat down 
beside Mrs. Lyndhurst. I did my best to thaw her, but with- 
out success. Aunt Catherine look'd at me in a pitying 
way. 

‘How have you got through these two hours, you poor 
child ?’ she whispered, as she passed me a cup of tea; and I 
could hardly refrain from laughing. 

Partly to mystify them, and partly to compel Aline to 
speak, i said very quietly : 

‘ Aline and I have been planning a day’s outing. She wants 
me to go up to town with her to-morrow, and L,lp her with 
her shopping. What do you say. Aunt Catherine ? ’ 

Mr. Basil darted a quick, amused look at me, which said 
as plainly as possible, ‘ Did I not tell you so ? ’ But Aunt 


srm? ZAt)r gwetwolu^e^^ room. 887 

Catherine, who was filling np tho teapot, let the boiling water 
overfiow in her surprise. I think we were all astonished 
when Aline jumped up and took the silver kettle out of her 
hand. 

' You have overfilled iV she said brusquely; ^and the water 
is trickling all .over the tray. Why don’t you fetch a cloth, 
Basil ? Your 'Aunt will scald herself.’ 

* I had better ring for Benttet,’ he replied, walking across 
the .room very lazily ; and Aline sat down as though she had 
been detected in some fault. "Oh, I forgot the servants!’ 
she muttered. 

"Thank you, my dear; jrou have been very kind and help- 
ful,’ replied Aunt Catherine, quite pleased at this little at- 
tention from her stately niece. "I have made a terrible 
mess; but Bennett will soon put it right for me. So you 
have arranged to go to town with Olga ? Well, I am sure vou 
could not have selected a better companion.’ 

"Well, Olga is young, and one won’t be afraid of tiring 
her,’ observed Aline rather ungraciously; ".and we have a long 
day’s work before us. If you will tell us where to go — who 
are the best people, I mean — ^and how much 1 am to spend, 
we shall manage all the rest.’ 

" I .suppose you don’t want my help. Aline ? ’ asked her 
husband pleasantly. 

" Oh, there is no need to trouble any of you,’ was the off- 
hand answer. " Olga and I ’ — she was going to say " me,’ but 
stopped herself in time—" Olga and I will do very well, and I 
know all your likes and dislikes; so your taste won’t be 
affronted.’ 

" Then in that case I will make myself useful by looking 
out your trains. I suppose I may be allowed to meet you at 
the station ? or do you intend to dismiss me for the day ? ’ 

Mr. Basil was half joking I could see, but it was evident 
that Aline did not understand humor, for she answered him 
quite seriously: "I am thinking you will please yourself, as 
usual, so it is no use asking me. Perhaps, as Miss Leigh is 
such pleasant company, you may choose to make yourself 
agreeable.’ 

" You may consider my offer retracted,’ he replied, jumping 
up from the table; and I saw at once that he was displeased. 
" Do you think the little chap has finished his tea. Aunt Cath- 
erine ? ’ 

" Now, what have I said to make him go off in that way ? ’ 
asked Aline in an injured tone. " Did you ever see any one 
BO quick-tempered, Olga ? But he is always like that.’ 

22 


B88 THE SEARCH FOR BA^L LYNBHURST. 

‘ My dear, pleane do net say sncli thinf^s of mv son,^ ob- 
served Mrs. Lyndhurst in feeble alarm at this. 

Aline stared at her. 

‘ If he is your son, I suppose he is my .husband,^ she said 
pettishly; ^and I have every right to find fault with him.^ 

‘What nonsense!^ I said impatiently. ‘Who in their 
senses would find fault with such a trifle ? Come in the gar- 
den, Aline; I have just half an hour before I must go/ 

To my relief, she followed me at once. 

‘You were right to take me up,^ she said confidentially. ‘ I 
need not have been so iouchy with Basils mother; but it is 
as well to let them know that I have not the best of tempers, 
and then they wonT give me more than I can bear. ^ There 
is Basil. I expect he has ^ot over his crossness by this time. 
I mean to ask him to go with us to the station.^ 

‘ If I were you, I would just leave it alone.^ 

But Aline was not a woman who possessed much tact. She 
called to her husband rather peremptorily. 

‘You need not have been so short v/ith me, Basil; I meant 
no harm. I should be glad enough if you would go to the 
station with us.^ 

‘ I am very sorry, but it is impossible,^ he returned gravely, 
‘lam going over to Brighton for the day witli Keggie.' 

‘You have made your plans pretty quickly, that is all I can 
say,^ she replied, rather aggrieved at this. ‘ You might have 
asked first if I wanted Eeggie to go with us.' 

‘It is not likely I should do anything of the kind,' he re- 
plied curtly. ‘ A day's shopping would be far too fatiguing 
for any child. I am going to let him have a run on the beach 
and see the boats; the sea air will be good for him.' 

‘Reggie — it is always Reggie!' she replied angrily. 

But I would not let her proceed. I touched her arm, and 
whispered to her that I wanted to show her the Lady's Walk, 
and 1 gave Mr. Basil a look as I did so. Aline was decidedly 
ruffled. She turned a deaf ear to my soothing speeches, and 
as soon as we were under the dar£ fir-trees she burst out 
passionately : 

‘ Reggie, indeed I I wonder I don't hate the child, though 
he is my own, for Basil thinks of nothing else. I wish I had 
not asked him to come; it has only made him think more of 
himself. He will be as high and mighty all the evening as 
possible, when you are gone. I will just shut myself up in my 
room, and take no notice of any one. Well, are you going 
to tell me the ghost story ? ' 

‘ Wait a moment,' for I could hear footsteps crunching the 


Tm ZADY Gwmzoziirwj^ room, 839 


dead leaves behind me, and Mr. Basil came up in his quick 
way. 

‘ I am sorry I disappointed you just now, Aline. I will give 
up Brighton for to-morro V, and go with you as far as V'ic- 
toria. I have business I ckght to finish, and we might take 
the same train back. Will that satisfy you looking at her 
anxiously. ' 

^ Thank you, Basil,’ was all she said; and he went away 
without another word. Aline stood quite still for a few min- 
utes. ‘ I wonder what made him change his mind ? I never 
knew him do such a thing before. If he always spoke as 
kindly as he did just now!’ she sighed heavily, and by tacit 
consent we changed the subject. 

When I bade her good-by, I kissed her, but she made no 
sort of response. 

‘Is she really cold and undemonstrative by nature?’ I 
thought; ‘or is it shyness and an uncomfortable sense of in- 
feriority that makes her keep people at a distance ? ’ But I 
found myself unable to answer this question. 

And another thing puzzled me : would Mr. Basil have re- 
considered his hasty speech if I had not given him that re- 
proachful look ? 

I found Kitty far more cheery. She rallied me in her old 
way on my new friendship, as she termed it. 

‘ What a pity we did not leave our expedition until Thurs- 
day I ’ I observed ; ‘ and then we could all have gone up to 
town together.’ 

Kitty’s face fell a little at this. 

‘ Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ she said hurriedly : ‘ Hubei' t has 
found out that there is a meeting of clergy here that day, and 
as he has several important engagements during the. remainder 
of the week we have put oft* going until the following Thurs- 
day.’ 

‘ My dear Kitty, what a mistake I ’ 

‘ Hot at all. I am much better to-day — Hubert says so- 
und I feel it myself; so please do not say anything more about 


She finished with the Kitty-like dignity that always silenced 
one. 

When I reached the station the next morning, I found 
Aline and her husband walking up and down the platform. 
They both looked in excellent spirits. Aline was perhaps 
quieter than she had been the previous day; but she seemed 
contented, and I noticed Mr. Basil was on his best behavior, 
and paid her a good deal of attention. 


840 THE BE ARCH FOR BABIL LYHBHURBF 

When we reached Victoria, he put us into a hansom, and 
v;e drove to a dressmaker Aunt Catherine had recommended 
— a certain Madame Hortense. As we drove through the 
crowded streets. Aline told me that she had had a grand con- 
fabulation with Aunt Catherine and Marsden the previous 
night. 

* Marsden — ^isn^t that her name ? — is to get me all I want 
in the way of under-clothing, but I am to do the rest myself. 
I am to order a mantle, and one cf those fashionable jackets 
they are wearing now; and I must have a bonnet for church, 
and a hat. So you see we shall have plenty to do before five 
o^clock.^ 

I wondered what Madame Hortense thought of Aline. She 
certainly treated her wlfch the respect she would have shown 
to a duchess. AHne was not at all flurried; she went through 
her business in the most matter-of-fact way. She seemed to 
know by intuition the color and material that would suit her 
best. 

As WG sat at luncheon in the little shop in !Kew Street, I 
could not help expressing my surprise at the justness and deli- 
cacy of her taste. 

^ I think that sort of thing is born with one,^ she returned 
carelessly. ^ I v^as always considered the best-dressed girl in 
Holloway — at least, George said so. Poor George ! I wonder 
how he is getting on ? 1 could not have worn the tawdry 
ribbons and flimsy laces other girls did, to save my life. When 
we were first married Basil often praised me for my n’eatness. 
Olga,^ interrupting herself as the covered dish of cutlets was 
placed before us, know you arci as tired as tired can be; 
and, for the matter of that, so am I. Don^t you think a erlasa 
of wine would freshen ns up ? ^ 

^Oh, no; we could not order anything of the kind here,^ I 
returned, growing hot in a moment, ^ A cup of coffee would 
be far better. Ladies never order wine.^ 

I do not know what Aline thought of my speech, for in my 
consternation I bad quite overlooked the fact that a gray- 
haired lady at the next table was calmly sipping a glass of 
sherry at that very moment. But Aline good-naturedly ig- 
nored this fact, and ordered the coffee. This was the only 
contretemps, and we spent the rest o2 the afternoon pleasantly 
enough. 

I could not help noticing that wherever we went Aline ex- 
cited a great deal of attention. She seemed quite unconscious 
of’ the fact. Once, as we were walking down Regent Street, 
she asked me if anything was wrong with her, and on my aa^ 


^THE LADY GWYNDOLINE^E ROOM. *' 341 

Baring her that she looked as tidy as possible, she said simply, 
^Oh, I thought ray hat was crooked— that man stared so/ 
And she really seen ed to tnean what she said* 

Mr. Basil was waiting for us when we drove up to the 
station. He hunied us off to take our^ places, for the train 
was just starting. 

t ^ Why, yon. look as Iresh as possible, Aline! ^ he said, as we 
moved off. ^ I thought you and Miss Leigh would be quite 
done up/ 

^ Olga is tired, I believe,’ she returned. ^ But I have had a 
pleasant day, and enjoyed it. I like the shops and the crowds 
of people; and every one was so civil.’ 

^ And how many smart gowns have you ordered ? ’ he askeu 
good-humoredly. 

* Oh, I am not going to tell you,’ she answered rather shyly. 
^ Olga, don’t you answer any of his questions. I am going to 
surprise you.’ 

And then, of course, he be^n teasing us both by a series of 
cross questioning; but I could see he was doing it to amuse 
her. 

I went back to dinner with them, but I suppose, after all. 
Aline was tired, for she seemed put out because she had noth- 
ing but her gray gown to wear, and Mr. Basil was in evening 
dress. 

^ He might have kept me in countenance for once,’ she 
complained. ^ And there is his mother in her black velvet, 
and I look like a milkmaid among them. Basil only laughed 
when I told him so, and said I was growing vain;’ and for 
the remainder of the evening she relapsed into her old silence. 

But she thawed a little when Jem came in to fetch me. 
Jem always knew how to make himself agreeable to ladies, and 
I saw at once by his manner that he was immensely struck 
with her, though he would not own it. 

‘ Well, what do you think of Mrs. Basil Lyndhurst ? ’ I 
asked, as we hurried down the avenue, fox the night was wet. 

think she just matches the Don, and that ! should not 
like to be in his place; ’ and that was all I could get out of 
Jem. 


342 TUB &EARCB FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

lADTBIRD PLATO PRANKS. 

‘ Lois the xlealer prayed. 

With soul uplift, 

** O Love, the oeautiful, 

Give me this gift. 

Comfort and help ti) be 
Where’er I go ; 

Cool in the summer time. 

Warmth in the snow.” ' 

Anon, 

During the next few days I saw a great deal of Aline; in- 
deed, I began to feel that I never had a moment to myself, 
and that I was neglecting Kitty and the childre.n shamefully. 
All my little home duties were unfulfilled ; I neither helped 
the twins with their lessons, nor assisted nurse with the 
needlework. Jem complained that I was never at home, and 
I saw the same unspoken reproach in Harry’s eyes. It was 
in vain that I protested and excused m3rBeif. Every morning 
one of Aunt Catherine’s notes summoned me to the Hall on 
some plea or other. ‘ I am very sorry, but Aline has set her 
heart on a day at Brighton, and she refuses to go unless you 
are of the party;’ or, ^ Aline has to return Lady Medhurst’s 
call, and she wants you to drive over with her, as Basil is en- 
gaged,’ and so on.. 

I turned restive at last, and told Aunt Catherine plainly 
that Aline expected too much of me. I was very willing to 
do what I could for her, but she must understand that my 
home people had a claim on me. She listened to me very 
quietly, and Without making any observation, and I thpught, 
of course, that she agreed with me in thinking Aline rather 
importunate in her demands on my time. 

1 was greatly surprised, therefore, when Hubert spoke to 
me the next day. He was a little mysterious in his manner, 
and he mm ed and hawed a good deal. He began by saying 
that he had a great respect for Miss Sefton, and that he owed 
her a return for her kindness to me. ‘ She has been talking 
to me about you,’ he went on. ^ She seems in a little difficulty 
about Mrs. Basil Lyndhurst. She is rather peculiar, and does 


LADYBIRD PLAYS PRAJYKS, 


843 


not seem to take to them much. And she sayg no one but 
you seems to please her; and she has been asking me, as a 
special favor, to spare you to them as much as possible. Wo 
had quite a long talk about it, Kitty and I, and we have made 
up our minds that we must do all we can to ease the poor 
ladies, for really, as Kitty says, young Mrs. Lyndhurst is such 
a handful, and she does not wonder Miss Sefton is worried 
about her; so we think you ought to be up at the Hall as 
much as possible; and as for the children's lessons, Kitty 
says she will manage all those herself.’ 

If Aunt Catherine had appealed to Hubert, it was no use 
my saying a word. Hubert would be so flattered by her con- 
fidence that he would not listen to me, and 1 found it was no 
good grumbling to Kitty; and as Jem was going to Oxford 
m a day or two, he would not bo able to fight my battles. 

I made one Vain attempt to coax Kitty. 

^ You know,’ I said persuasively, ^that I would much rather 
be here with you, or overlooking Jessie and Mab’s lessons in' 
the school-room, than wasting so. many hours with AUne; I 
might as well be her paid companion at once, if I am to drive 
about with her, and pay visits, and help her with her fancy 
work. She is getting to depend on me far too much.’ 

^ But, Olga,’ she said, looking up from her work in evident 
surprise at my dissatisfied tone, ^ aren’t you just a little con- 
tradictory about this ? Once you never passed a day happily 
if you did not go up to the Hall, and now, when Miss Sefton 
wants you so badly, you are always making excuses about 
being needed at home.’ 

I felt myself flush over Kitty’s downright speech, but it 
was no use trying to make her understand; indeed, I hardly 
understood myself why the Hall seemed so different to mo 
now, but I only felt that I "•hould be much happier at home. 

There were no cozy talks v/ith Aunt Catherine, no long, 
lingering chats in the twilights. If I stopped a moment with 
her or Mrs. Lyndhurst, Marsden would come down with a 
peremptory message to summon me to Aline’s room, or she 
would come in search of me herself. And she was by no 
means a restful companion, either. She had strange, difticult 
moods, when nothing seemed to please her, and she com- 
plained bitterly of the dulnesa of her surroundings — when 
she would take offence at a word, and make every one in the 
house uncomfortable. 

Her chief complaint seemed to be that she saw so little of 
her husband; that he was always shut up in the library with 
Aunt Catherine, or riding about on that fine new Itorse of 


844 the mAHOH FOR BAmL LYNDHUR8T, 


his. In vain I tried to explain to her that he was only doing 
his duty. 

^All these years/ I said, ^ Aunt Catherine has been obliged 
to manage the estate as well as she could with the help of a 
bailiff, and now Mr. Basil has come home, of course it is only 
right that he should help her. He has so much to learn, you 
see, aiid only Aunt Catherine can show him things.^ 

‘ Oh, that is all very well, as far as it goes/ she returned, 
not abating her injured, tone. ^ Of course he is the Squire, 
and must manage the property— am not such a child that I 
do not know that; but, all tne same, he need not spend all 
the rest of the day playing with Reggie or riding across the 
country.’ 

^It is such a new pleasure to him, and. he is so proud of his 
handsome mare/ 1 pleaded, for this had been his mother’s 
iirst gift to him, and I shall never forget his boyish look of 
pleasure when he first mounted the beautiful creature and 
rode her down the avenue. ^And he is not wasting his time, 
either, for he goes too see his tenants. Why don’t you learn 
to ride, and then you can go with him ? ’ 

^ He has not offered to teach me/ she replied with a curl of 
her lip, for she was in a perverse mood that day. ^ There is 
to be a pony for Reggie. His grandmother was talking about 
it at luncheon — a little Shetland pony with a long tail. It is 
not that I begrudge Reg his pony,’ with a touch of motherli- 
ness in her tone, ^ but Basil will never think of me as long as 
he has got the boy beside him.’ 

^ Why do you not speak to him about it ? I dare say the 
idea of your riding with him has never entered his head.’ 

^ I would not ask him for worlds,’ she returned with an un- 
easy flush. ^ I know how he would hate to see my awkward- 
ness, and no one can ride well at first. I am getting too 
stout, too/ for Aline was always morbid on this point. 

^ You do not walk enough/ I replied, turning this speech 
to account. ^ We should all of us get stout if we sat in the 
house as much as you do.’ 

^I know I am lazy/ she returned more good-humoredly; "1 
was never ,oue for much running about, and driving is far 
pleasanter than picking one’s way along muddy lanes,’ for 
October had set in rather wet and gloomy, and certainly the 
roads round Brookfield were muddy. 

^You might play tennis, though/ I continued; for, to 
Harry’s great delight, the Squire was having an asphalt court 
made on a little slip of unoccupied ground near the stables, 
and he and Aunt Catherine were very busy over it — indeed, I 


345 


ladybird plays pranks, 

am sure Mr. Basil never had an unoccupied moment, and he 
was looking better and brighter in consequence. 

I made many elforts to rouse Aline from her indolence. I 
wanted to teach her to dance, to play the piano, to learn 
French — in fact, I rated her pretty severely for her laziness. 
She took everything I said in good part, for she never turned 
sulky with me 5 but 1 could not rouse her to interest in any- 
thing except fancy work — she was very clever over that — or 
reading exciting hovels, which she would devour greedily. 

I used to wonder why she never played with Reggie. Now 
and then we took him to drive with us, or she would send fur 
him on the plea that Miss Olga wanted the child; but she 
rarely did so of hei* own accord. And yet she was by no 
means indifferent to him. I would often find her at her 
window watching him when he was playing with his father; 
and if she heard him suddenly running down the passage, 
she would rise hurriedly as though to go to him, and then in 
a moment resume her place. One day we had an uncomfort- 
able proof of the strong undercurrent of feeling that was hid- 
den under her apparent indifference. 

I was playing one afternoon in the hall with Reggie at 
battledoor and shuttlecock, when Mr. Basil suddenly rode up 
to the door, and Reggie ran out on the steps in a state of 
great exictement. 

^ Give Reggie a ride, father,^ he said coaxingly, for he had 
had this treat once before. And as Mr. Basil laughed and 
nodded — for when had he refused his idolized boy anything ? 
— I lifted him up, and saw him safely deposited before his 
father. 

I thought I had never seen a prettier sight than when Lady- 
bird pranced and curvetted in her coquettish way, and finally 
broke into a gentle canter up and down the avenue. Reggie 
was in his prune-coldred velvet suit, with a deep lace collar; 
and as he sat there, with his erect little figure, with his fathers 
arm thrown round him, he looked like some childish prince. 
In spite of his smallness and delicacy, he was such a noble- 
looking child. 

Just at that moment I heard a long-drawn breath beside 
me, almost like a-sigh, and, to my surprise. Aline was stand- 
ing behind me, watching them; but there was such an intense 
melancholy in her gaze that I feared to speak to her. 

Just then they returned. Reggie was laughing and ges- 
ticulating when, unhappily, one of the tame pheasants about 
the place suddenly rose into the air close to them, with the 
Gtrange whirring sound that they always make, startling Lady-? 


843 THE SEARCH FOB BASIL LYHDHURST. 

bird almost out of her senses. She reared and snorted,, and 
for one terrible instant I thought they would both be thrown. 
Aline thought so too, for she uttered a suppressed scream; 
but the next moment Ladybird brought her fore-feet down 
again, and, turning sharply round, broke into a mad gallop 
down the avenue. Aline tore past me; she was as white as 
death. Mr. Basil had not lost his presence of mind; he held 
his boy firmly, and spoke soothingly to his frightened mare, 
keeping his own seat in a masterly way, and in a minute or 
two he succeeded in checking her. She was still ahying and 
snorting nervously, when Aline, at no small risk to herself, 
almost snatched Keggie from his father. .Her eyes were 
blazing with anger; her breast heaved with emotion, 

^How dare you!^ she cried, pressing the child to her. 
^How dare you, Basil! Is he not my child as well as yours ? 
I will not bear it, I tell you ! ^ 

Mr. Basil dismounted quietly, and, patting the mare’s neck, 
gave her in charge to a groom who came running from the 
stables; then he followed us into the house. Aline had sunk 
into a chair, but she was still clutching Eeggie, who looked 
bewildered and a little frightened at her vehemence. I 
wanted to take him from her, but i 



He is not yours — he is mine! 


with a stamp of her foot; and I drew back at once. 

am sorry to have given you such a fright. Aline,’ . ob- 
served her husband. He looked almost as pale and disturbed 
as she did, but he spoke quietly. ‘ Ladybird has never played 
me. such a trick before, but, then, she was startled.’ 

^ You might have killed him!’ she said passionately; ^and 
I must stand by and see it. You treat me cruelly, Basil. 
Didn’t I beg you never to do ifc again ? Wasn’t it only yes- 
terday that I said I could not bear your risking it ? But 
there, you mind me no more than if I were the wind.’ 

^ My dear girl,’ he said, putting his arm round her, but she 
shook him off, ^ pray don’t excite yourself like this. Lady- 
bird is like a lamb generally. Do you think I would not be 
as careful of the little chap as you would be yourself ? Why, 
what nonsense, child! and it was pure accident. Miss Leigh 
will bear me witness, I am sure.’ 

He need not have brought in my name; it only angered 
her the more. 

^Miss Leigh, indeed! What does she know of a mother’s 
feelings ? What is Eeggie to her ? Isn’t ho my boy ? But 
there, you care about nothing but pleasing yourself. IN'o, you 
shall. not have him’ — still holding Eeggie tightly; and I could 


"LADYBIRD PLATS PRANKS. 347 

see she was trembling all over with passion — 'you will go 
along with me, won^t you, Eeg ? ^ ^ 

Bu.t Keggie was spoiled, and lie chgse to be of a different 
opinion. 

^N^o,^ he said, rather crossly; ^I’ll stay with father and my 
dear Put me down, mother.^ 

At the boy^s petulant speech her arms unloosened their 
hold, and at once dropped wearily to her side; a strange sort 
of look came oyer her face. 

I forgot,^ she said, rising with a short hard laugh; ^he is 
more yours, after all;^ and she gave him a rough push. ‘ Go 
to them, Eeggie. I wouldn^t keep you for worlds;^ and Mr. 
Basil, with a grieved look, took up his boy. 

. ^ You ought not to say such things to me, Aline,^ he re- 
plied; ‘I haven^t deserved them, I try to study you. It is 
you who are not treating me well.^ 

^Oh, I will not hear you!^ she returned, putting her hands 
to her ears, and walking like a tragedy-queen across the hall. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst, who was standing at the drawing-room 
door, and had been a spectator of this little scene, stepped up 
to Mr. Basil and touched his arm. 

‘ Go to her,^ she whispered. ^It is her nerves; she has had 
a fright. Give me Eeggie, and sro to her;^ but he shook his 
head. 

^ ^ It would be no use, mother; I know Aline by this time. 
iShe chooses to feel aggrieved, and she would not speak to me. 
You must give her time to recover herself; she will be best 
alone. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst did not look quite convinced; she gave me 
g-n appealing glance. 

^May I go to Aline I asked timidly. 

‘You! No; certainly not ! ^ more abruptly than I had ever 
heard him speak to me before . And as I drew back, very 
much abashed at this, he said, more gently: ‘ Do you think I 
would expose you to such annoyance ? You take trouble 
enough v/ith Aline; but when she is in one of these moods 
she might not treat you well.* 

‘You are wrong,* I returned eagerly; ‘Aline is never cross 
with me.* 

‘ Is she not ? * with a glimmer of a smile, but he still looked 
very pale. ‘ I am glad to hear it ; but all the same, I do not 
wish you to go to her now; * and though I knew he was wrong, 
and that he was determined to punish Aline for her fit of 
passion, I was obliged to obey him; so I went into the draw- 
ing-room, and after a moment Mrs. Lyndlmrst followed me. 


THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST 

must go now/ I observed; ^it is no use my waiting any 
longer for Aunt Catherine. Most likely she will not be back 
for another hour;^ for Aunt* Catherine had gone for a round 
of visits, which she had vainly tried to induce Aline to‘ pay 
with her; but young Mrs. Lyndhurst only performed her con- 
ventional duties by fits and starts. 

^ Well, my dear, do as you like, for, as Basil says, you take 
trouble enough for us. "But, ail the same, I wish he would 
have let you have your way. No one has such an influence 
over Aline as you have; but he seems fcoo much hurt to care 
about putting things right.^ 

‘Yes; and she will just make herself ill brooding over it 
all. I never knew any one so morbid. I don^t believe she 
means half she says. She just flings off these excited speeches 
as a sort of vent — ^a safety-valve to her feelings. Peopfe never 
mean what they say in passion. Mr. Basil ought to remember 
that, even though he is vexed at her want of self-control.^ 

‘You are right. I only wish Basil heard you. But men 
like to have their own way, and he is too much offended to 
hear reason. They are an ill-assorted couple '-—and Mrs^ 
Lyndhurst sighed. ‘Aline will never make him happy.' 

I echoed this sigh as I went down the avenue. I felt 
troubled and unnerved by what had passed. Aline's thoughts 
had been for her boy. She had not seemed to understand 
that her husband had also been in danger. If Ladybird had 
fallen back — and it was almost a miracle that the startled 
creature had recovered her balance — Mr. Basil would have 
been flung among the gnarled tree-trunks, and the mare 
would have rolled on him. 1 turned sick at the mere thought ; 
and, instead of thankfulness that her two treasures were safe. 
Aline had hurled angry words at her husband; and yet, from 
his white, shaken looks, he had been quite av/are of their 
danger. 

I spent a miserable evening, thinking of it all; and when 
I set out for the Hall the next afternoon, I was full of fore* 
bodings as to the manner of my reception. To my surprise, 
I found Aline sitting tran<5[uilly over her embroidery-frame. 
She pushed it away when she saw me. 

‘ There, I was just getting sick of work, so I am glad you 
have come,' she observed, in her usual manner. ‘ There are 
some visitors downstairs. My mother-in-law sent up for mo 
just now, but I told Marsden to say I had a headache. Oh, 
you need not disbelieve me/ with one of her shrewd guesses 
at my thoughts. ‘I am not inventing; all that fuss yester- 
day has upset mo, I wanted Basil to yt mo have some sal 


LADYBIRD PLAYS PRANKS, 


849 


tolatile just now — it would have done me good — ^but he says 
he does not hold with drugs; so I told him I did not hold 
with talking to visitors with a headache, and that he might 
go. to them himself. I believe ho has taken me at my word.’ 

‘ I am sorry you do not feel well,’ in a sympathetic tone. 
Certainly her eyes did look a little heavy. 

* Oh, it is all very fine to say that now; but why did you go 
off without bidding me good-by yesterday ? I had a regular 
fit of hysterics when I got upstairs. For Once that husband 
of mine got properly frightened.’ 

^ Do you mean to say ’ 

And then 1 stopped. It was no affair of mine if Mr. Basil 
went to her or not. 

^Marsden fetched him. I would have died before Fd have 
sent for him. But he wasn’t so bad, after all : he just scolded 
me a bit. George does that. They say it is no use being soft 
with people in hysterics. But when I came round he was 
quite coaxing, and stayed with me for ever so long; and then 
he fetched his mother. I told him that I did not want her, 
end that she would only fidget me; and I asked for him to 
send for you instead; but he was a little cross at that. 

Nonsense^” he said, fuming a bit, just because I contra- 
dicted him. Miss Leigh has gone home, and I cannot have 
her disturbed by every whim. There is my mother always 
ready to do anything.” And when I saw he was bent on it, I 
told him he might send her up.’ 

^ That was good of you.’ 

^ Well, I did not want to affront Basil agdin so soon ; and 
he is so touchy about his mother. But I declare to you, Olga, 
that she made me so nervous, that I felt all over pins and 
needles. I cannot make out why she fidgets me so, but that 
soft, low voice of hers almost drives me crazy.’ 

■‘Aunt Catherine suits you better ? ’ 

‘Oh yes, I like her better than I do my mother-in-law; but 
I do not seem to get on v/ith either of them. That is why I 
stop up here by myself, because I am not at my ease with 
them. They seem to speak a different language, and all their 
friends are the same. I never know what to say to them. 
Sometimes I don’t know how I am to go on living- like this^ 
from, day to day. I believe— -though I don’t daro tell Basil 
so — that I am pining to see George.’ 

‘Ask him to take you to Holloway when he goes up to town 
next week.’ 

‘I did ask him — I asked him more than once— but he 
alv/ays had some excuse ready. He seems hurt that I am 


050 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

wanting George so soon. I will take you some day ’—he 
always puts me off with that. I know as well as possible that 
he never means to ask George here.^ 

I was silenh I thought it likely that her .supposition was 
correct. Mr. Basil would hardly care to introduce his brother- 
in-law. I wondered Aline had not the tact to see this for 
herself. 

" Of course, I know George is not a gentleman, and that he 
would not be comfortable here. But when Basil was down 
on his luck he took us in and begrudged us nothing; and I 
say we ought to be grateful, and do something for George in 
return. What is the use of my writing to him, and Basil 
sending him game and fruit, and cases of wine ? — as though 
Becky knew how to cook game ! George would rather see me 
than have the finest present in the world. I told him that 
outright, but he doesn^t seem to see it.^ 

^ You must speak to him again.^ 

^ Oh no; I am not one of the nagging sort, and I am not 
going to coax Basil against his will. I know how he would 
look all the time George was in the house : just as though we 
were martyring him; and if ho were to put his knife to his 
mouth, when Bennet was in the room — and poor George 
would be as likely to do it as not—Basil would be in an 
agony. It is best to keep" them apart. But how ever I am 
to go on living without ever seeing George I don’t know. 
And there is Basil with all his friends round him, and that 
Mr. Fleming coming here next month — it is as much as ever 
I shall bring myself to be civil to him.’ 

I thought it better to let Aline talk on unchecked. I be- 
lieve the secret of my influence with her lay in this : that I 
was too young and inexperienced to control her properly, and 
so she confided in me without reserve. I am sure now that, 
but for this outlet, things would have been much worse; for 
her undisciplined nature rebelled sadly against <this ordered 
and conventional existence. She never interfered in any way 
with the ladies, never set herself up as mistress, or contra- 
dicted their orders; but she took no visible interest in the 
arrangements of her home, and never gave her opinion on any 
subject. 

After due reflection, I took Aunt Catherine into confidence, 
and repeated this part of our conversation. Aunt Catherine 
listened to me rather sadly. 

^Aline really wants her brother,’ I finished. 

^Yes; I know. I have already spoken to Basil, but the 
subject worries him terribly. He Avill not hear of Mr, Barton 


LADYBIRD PLAYB PRAUm ?51 

<5oming here — ^he Says he could not endure it— -hut he has 
promised to take Aline to Holloway/ 

^Ask him to do so quickly, and without delay/ 

She looked up rather surprised at my serious manner. 

^ There can he no real hurry, surely! Aline has onty been 
with us a month — or it is five weeks ? — and, as Basil says, 
there is no need for her to go often.^ 

‘ I suppose she could not go alone ? ’ . 

^ Oh ho; Basil would not trust her,^ very quickly; ^he never 
lets her go even for a walk alone. If you wish it, I will speak 
to him again, and see what is to he done; but I know Basil 
has a great many engagements, and there is the dinner-party 
next week;^ for a grand dinner-party was to be given at the 
■Hall in honor of the young Squire, to be followed by a still 
larger one to the tenants. ‘I am afraid he will not take her 
until after that/ 

^ No good comes of procrastination,’ I returned oracularly; 
hut I was not thinking of Mr. Basil as I spoke, but of ^Hubert. 

Kitty had not yet consulted a London physician, and it 
would be long before she would be fit to dvo so now. She had 
caught a severe chill on the very day she ought to have gdhe 
up to towr. Hubert had started off to attend the clerical 
meeting, after leaving her a strict injunction to take a turn 
with the twins. She stopped out too long, and a shower came 
on, and, as they had only one umbrella between them, Kitty 
got wet through, and in her weakened and delicate condition 
she was unable to throw off her severe cold. 

Hubert fretted and blamed himself and her; and then Dr. 
Langham came and scolded them both,.and ordered Kitty to 
bed, where he told her she was likely to remain for the next 
week or two. 

I thought he looked graver than usual when he came down- 
stairs, though he pooh-poohed the question when I asked him 
if she were really ill; and, as Dr. Langham "was rather touchy 
on professional matters, and seemed to consider his business 
was more with nurse than me, I could not press the point any* 
more that day^ 

‘ No good ever comes of procrastination,’ I had said, thmk'^* 
ing sorrowfully of Kitty; but Aunt Catherine, who'^ had so* 
clue to my thoughts, seemed a little alarmed at my earnest- 
ness. 


852 


TEE BEAECE FOE BABIL LYNEEUEBT. 


CHAPTEE XXXVIL 

THE EIKKEE-PABTY AT THE HALL, 

* Beautiful faces are those that wear. 

It mattera little if dark or fair, 

Whole-soul’d honesty printed there. 

Beautiful lives are those that bless. 

Silent rivers of happiness. 

Whose hidden fountains nut few possess.’ 

non, 

•I am not mad— I would to heaven I were ; 

For then ’tis likel should forget myself.’ 

Shakespeaee. ' 

I had not been included among the invited guests, as Aunt 
Catherine thought a girl of my age would feel strangely out 
of place among the older people; but to our mutual vexation 
Aline chose to be offended because my name was not in the 
list. 

We cannot ask three from one house,^ objected Aunt Oath- 
erino mildly; ^and you see Mr. and Mrs. Leigh are both com- 
ing;' for at that time we hoped Kitty would throw off her 
cold in a few days; but, as it happened, I should have been 
obliged to accompany Hubert. 

^It does not matter to me if Mrs. Leigh comes or noV re- 
turned Aline obstinately. ‘ I have not spoken half a dozen 
words to her ; but if I am mistress of this house, as Basil is 
always saying, it seems hard I should not invite my own 
friends; and if Olga is not to come to the dinner-party, I shall 
not put myself out about any one else; ^ and of course, after 
this, Aunt Gatherino v/as obliged to send me an invitation. 

She pencilled a few lines on the card, urging my acceptance. 

“ Aline will be very much put out if you do not come. Tell 
Mrs. Leigh that she must bring you.^ 

I was somewhat in dismay at this now whim of . Aline’s, for 
I felt it would involve me in unnecessary expense. The 
dinner-party v/ould be a most brilliant affair, and all the best 
people in the county were coming. I had no dress fit tor such 
an occasion, and I had already spent the greater part of my 
allowance. To my delight, I foiind Aunt Catherine had in- 
tuitively guessed at the real state of affairs, and was ready to 
enact the part of . fairy godmother. 


THE DINNER-PARTY AT THE HAIL. 


353 


^ Don^t trouble your little head about such a trifle/ she said 
in her kind way. ‘ Mrs. Leigh is not fit to be worried just 
now; so I have settled it all with Marsden. If you will give 
her one of your dresses for a pattern, she will speak to Madame 
Hortense when she goes up to town next Wednesday. I made 
up my mind from the first that I would give you your dress. 
lYhy, what nonsense ! ^ as I thanked her rather effusively. ^ It 
is not the first time I have given you a present. We will 
keep it a secret from Aline, though ; she was very curious this 
morning, and asked me v.^hat you were going to wear.^ 

I thought Madame Hortense 's taste perfect when I opened 
the coffin-shaped box that contained my finery. The dress 
was soft white silk, and was trimmed with dainty finishes of 
lace; gloves and shoes of the most faultless description com- 
pleted the toilette. Even Kitty raised her weary head from 
the pillow to wonder and admire. 

^ You will look like a bride, Olga! Surely you will have 
some deep-colored flowers?^ she observed; but I negatived 
this notion. 

‘ Aunt Catherine likes me in v/hitc, and I shall wear the 
necklace she gave me;^ and though she tried to combat this 
resolution, and suggested chrysanthemums and brown leaves, 
I adhered to my determination not to wear a single bud. 

I had promised to go up to the Hall early to give my opin- 
ion on Aline^s dress, and Hubert would follow me later. Ho 
v;as rather out of spirits, poor fellow! at the idea of leaving 
Kitty behind. He told me mournfully that it was the first 
time that he had ever gone out to dinner without her; and 
then he said that I looked very nice, and, after eyeing me 
through his spectacles with a great deal of attention, he con- 
tinued with a sigh : 

^ Kitty wore a gown like yours that day we were married. 
Do you remember how pretty she looked, Olga, and what a 
color she had when I took her into the vestry ? ^ and then he 
wrapt me up carefully and put me into the old donkey-chair 
that we had borrowed for the occasion, and I saw him still 
standing there looking after us absently until we were out of 
sight. Poor Hubert I I wished — I wished that he could have 
been a little less fond of Kitty! 

I saw Bennet smile at my humble equipage as he assisted 
me to alight. Mrs. Basil was still in her room, he told me, 
so I ran up there at once. 

• On my way I encountered Aunt Catherine. She was quietly 
dressed as usual, but the black lace gown suited her. She 
gave me a quick approving glance. You will do very well. 


854 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LTHBHURST.' 


OlgTj/ she said, with a smile. ‘ Madame Hortense has just 
caught your style — it is simple and in good taste: ^ and then 
she passed on. 

I knocked at Aline^s door, and Marsden opened it. Aline 
was standing before the long pier-glass contemplating herself. 
She did not move or change her attitude in the lea^o as I 
entered, but only looked at me rather seriously. 

^ Do you think I shall do, Olga ? ^ she asked quickly. ‘ The 
dress is well enough; but what I want to know is whether I 
shall pass among all the fine folk dov/nstairs.^ 

I did not answer for a moment. I was thinking I never 
saw a more beautiful creature, as she stood in that queenly 
attitude, with her white arms folded before her. 

She had chosen the dress herself; it was green velvet, and 
it was trimmed at the neck with soft yellowish lace. A gold 
necklace, with an emerald pendant — one of the Sefton trea- 
sures — was clasped round her white, massive throat, but her 
arms were quite bare. She shook her head when Marsden 
offered her some bracelets. 

^ I don't want them. I donT feel like myself with a lot of 
jewelry. My mother-in-law may wear them herself — you 
can tell her so, Marsden. Well, Olga, why donT you speak ? 
Do you think Basil will bo satisfied with my appearance ? 

But she must have read my answer in my eyes, for she gave 
a little laugh. 

^ He ought to be satisfied. Aline. I think you will be the 
grandest-looking woman in the room. Lady Harcourt is 
handsome— at least, all the county says so — but she will not 
hold a candle to you to-night.^ 

'What stuff she returned good-humoredly; but she was 
pleased with the fiattery. 

She looked at herself again to make sure that I was speak- 
ing the truth. I felt every one would indorse my opinion : 
the finely-shaped head with its coils of plaits; the tall, strik- 
ing figure; the deep, brilliant eyes; the slow, graceful move- 
ments, would attract attention at once. 

'You are righV she observed tranquilly; ' I am not so bad, 
after all. I wonder if George would know me? Do you 
know, Olga, I feel jurt as though I were acting a part — -as they 
do in plays — to-night. I am not Allie — I am the Squire's 
lady. I wish you could write out the dialogue for me; it 
would be ever so much easier. I shali have to talk to Sir 



THE riNNER-PARTY AT THE HALL. 855 

^ She was talking in a random way, as though she were ex- 
cited. I wished Marsden were not there to hear her; but she 
was a discreet, trusty creature, and I knew she never repeated 
things. 

"You must let him talk to you; that will be.besV I replied 
sagely; and then, to change the subject, for I was afraid of 
v;hat she might say next, I continued : " But you have never 
admired my dress. It is Aunt Catherine's gift, you know!^ 

" It is very pretty," she returned carelessly. ^ What a child- 
ish little thing you look in it, Olga! But somehow I like it. 
Mind you keep near' me when we go downstairs, and for 
mercy"s sake don't leave ms to my mother-in-law. Let us go 
down now, for I am just longing to see how Basil looks. 
Take care you don"t fall over my train ! " 

It was still early when we entered the drawing-room, and 
Mr. Basil was alone. He v/as standing before the fire with 
one arm on the mantelpiece, and seemed lost in thought. He 
started perceptibly as his e3^es fell on his wife. She walked 
up to him half proudly, half shyly, trailing her long draperies 
behind her. 

"Shall I do, Basil?" 

He moved slightly, and held her out at arm"s length; a 
puzzled expression came into his eyes. 

" I hardly knew you — I thought it was Lady Harcourt. She 
is your height. You look first-rate. Aline — doesn"t she. Miss 
Leigh ? " but he hardly looked at me as he spoke. 

Aline blushed v/ith pleasure. Those few words had fully 
repaid her for all her trouble. 

" You must tell Olga she looks nice, too," she said magnan- 
imously ; " you must, not give me all the praise, Basil." 

He gave me a quick, keen glance that troubled me. 

" Miss Leigh does not want me to tell her that," he said. 
" She will have plenty of admirers this evening." 

And then Mrs. Lyndhurst came in, and Aunt Catherine 
followed her, and they both said kind things to Aline. I 
drew back into a corner. 

I wished Mr. Basil had not made that foolish, flippant little 
speech. He must surely understand that I did not wish for 
compliments from him. Admirers ! when no one in the whole 
world cared for me except poor Harry I I felt a little hurt, 
and my beautiful dress did- not console me in the least, for 
when one has friends one likes them to be simple and frank, 
and not to say silly things. 

To my surprise, I saw Mr. Basil leave the fireside group, 
and the next minute he came to my corner. 


8S6 THE BEARCH FOR BABIL LYNDHURBT, 


^ Are ybu tyioifying a snowdrop this evening. Miss Leigh,^ 
he asked, with his old friendly smile, ‘ that yon are hiding 
yourself away so humbly ? Do you knoAV, I have just heard 
Bome news that has pleased me greatly; and I want to share 
it with you. I have had a long letter from Mr. Fleming/ 

"Yes.^ 

*The old vicar is dead, and they have offered him the living 
of St. Markus. It is the very place for him. it is not a bad 
living and the new Vicarage has just been finished. So the 
dear old man will be in clover.^ 

am glad ! ^ — with emphasis. ^ Have jou told Aunt Cath- 
erine ? ^ 

No — ^not yet; there was no opportunity. Do you think 
she will be pleased ? ^ 

^ Certainly she will. Mr. Fleming has always been poor, 
and ^ 

‘But he will be rich iiow,^ interrupting me; ‘but, as he is 
not a married man, that does not matter.^ 

‘ He may marry still,’ I returned; ‘ he is not really old, only 
fifty; ’ for I had leapt to this conclusion at once. T>Iy remark 
seemed to surprise Mr. Basil. 

‘ He is not one of the marrying sort. I do not believe ho 
has ever thought of it. What has put such an idea into your 
Jiead ? ’ 

‘ It is a very likely idea,’ I replied, rather provoked at this, 
for men are so dense in such matters ; they never guess things 
as v/omen do. ‘ Mr. Basil, don’t you think Aline looks beau- 
tiful to-night ? ’ 

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ but he spoke coldly. 

‘ She has taken such pains with herself, just to please you. 
I never saw any one so anxious, and yet she is not a bit vain.’ 

‘No, she is not vain.’ 

‘In my opinion, she will be the most beautiful woman in 
the room ! ’ 

‘Possibly. Oh, there is Mr. Leigh! I must go and speak 
to him. Come with me; ’ but I refused to be tempted out of 
my corner. But the next moment Aline pounced on me. 

‘ Do you call this keeping near me ? ’ she said, rather in- 
dignantly. ‘My mother-in-law was m^aking me yawn as 
usual; I suppose that is why ladies use their fans so much. 
What has Basil been talking to you about ? I could see you 
both smiling. He hadn’t much to say to me, in spite of all 
my finery.’ 

‘He is perfectly satisfied with you/ was my diplomatio 
reply. 


THE DINNEBrPARTY AT THE HALL. 


357 


^Why, were you talking of me?^ opening her eyes very 
wide. ‘I never thought of that; but I believe you are quiz- 
zing me, and that you and Basil had secrets together.’ 

^^o; nonsense!’ — rising rather hastily. ‘There are the 
Harcourts, Aline, and your place is by your husband. He is 
looking for you; do go to him.’ 

* You must come, too,’ she returned decidedly. 

Was she really nervous ? I wondered. There was a touch 
of haughtiness in her manner as she acknowledged her guests’ 
greeting, and for all her handsome looks she had very little 
to say to any one. Sir Henry, who was a voluble talker, did 
not seem to notice her silence. 

During dinner I could hear his good-humored voice and 
laugh, and see Aline’s statue-like stillness, as she merely bent 
her head or made some monosyllabic reply. .Poor Aline! 
after all, I fear her position 'was hardly a pleasant one. 
Toward the close of the evening, I noticed she grew paler and 
still more silent. 

I was taken in to dinner by a lively Guardsman, a cousin of 
the Harcourts; he talked a great deal about the Black Eorest, 
and seemed a pleasant and amusing person. I think he hardly 
knew at first how he was to interest a little country girl; but 
he struck out in the direction of the Black Forest, and, find- 
ing it answered, he stuck to it gallantly. I gave him a good 
deal of information in return about St. Croix, so we got on 
very’ well. 

On our entering the drawing-room. Aline asked me his 
name. 

‘ For you were just chattering like a couple of magpies,’ she 
cpn tinned; ‘and I wondered if he were an old friend cf yours. 
I wish I could have tackled Sir Henry in that style* he must 
have thought Basil had a stupid sort of wife.’ 

It struck me that Aline was a little sulky; she kept aloof 
from the ladies, who were all crowding round the fire, and 
fanned herself in a discontented way. When the gentlemen 
came in, I saw her look eagerly at her husband, as though she 
wanted him to come and speak to her; but Mr. Basil was 
talking to Sir Henry, and passed her without a word. 

Unfortunatdy, Captain Harcourt seemed determined to 
monopolize me again. He told me, in confidence, that he and 
I were the only young people in the room, and that we ought 
to have a fellow-feeling for each other. 

‘ I was afraid they would send me in with some old dowager 
or some sprightly maiden lady of uncertain age,’ he v/ent on; 
‘ but when Mr. Lyndhurst pointed you out, I felt a sudden 


858 the search for basil lyhbhurst 


exhilaration of spirits that has lasted me all the evening. It 
was not the champagne/ as I looked at him reprovingly, ^ for, 
if yon remember, 1 never tasted it.^ 

But, after all, this was not a fair specimen of his conversa- 
tion, for he was really a most agreeable companion. 

Hubert came up to me presently; he wanted me to slip 
away without attracting notice — it was still early, and it 
would not do to break up the party : he would give Miss 
Sefton a hint, and she would understand that he was anxious' 
to get back to Kitty. I obeyed him at once, and begged Cap- 
tain Harcourt to take no notice; there was a door near us. I 
thought Aline was still in the room, and hoped that she did 
not perceive my exit. Captain Harcourt would insist on com- 
ing into the hall to shake hands, but I sent him back per- 
cnmtorily. 

I might have to wait seme minutes for Hubert, as he would 
have to watch for an opportunity to speak to Aunt Catherine. 
Some one with a fine tenor voice was singing ^ The Eiver of 
Years.^ I could hear the refrain as I crossed the hall to fetch 
my fur-lined cloak. I hummed the last line softly to myself, 

^ And we must be ready to meek the tide.^ Ah, that was the 
difficulty — to be ready when the time came ! 

I was passing the half-closed door of the dining-room, when 
I heard a slight movement within, and thinking it was Ben- 
net, I went in to ask him for a glass of water; to my surprise 
it was Aline. She was standing by the sideboard, with her 
back to the door. What could she be doing ? The next 
moment I saw her raise a wine-glass to her lips, and drain the 
contents. The sight turned me sick, and for a few seconds I 
stood rooted to the spot. She had the decanter in her hand, 
and was refilling her glass, when I sprang: forward, and caught 
her arm. ^ 

^ Aline I exclaimed, in a. shocked voice; ^what can yoa 
be thinking about? For heaven^s sake put that decanter^ 
down!^ 

She tried to laugh it off. 

^Goodness me, how you startled m^ you tiresome girl! I 
thought it was Bennet; the servants are always poking about 
when one least expects them. What on earth makes you look 
so scared ? I suppose a person may help herself to a glass of 
sherry in h^er own house.^ 

She was trying to brave it out^ but she had the grace to 
look ashamed of herself. 

^^But not you/ I panted. ‘ Oh, Aline! how can you be so 
wicked, when you premised ? You know you promised your 


THE EIimEn-PAnTT AT THE HALL. 


859 


husband that you -vrould never touch anything but water 
again! Oh, I know; Aunt Catherine told me so/ 

^ People cannot always remember a promise/ she returned 
crossly. ^ I wish you would not make such a fuss about r. 
trifle; it is not your business, 5 ou know. I was so nervono 
that I could not touch a morsel at dinner; and I was nearly 
sick with that horrid, sinking feeling. I feel quite different 
now. A little pick-me-up, as George says, was all I wanted. 
And I will go back to fche drawing-room now, if you like.^ 

^ Yes, come — come directly/ for I noticed that she gave a 
lingering glance at the glass she had half filled. 

^It is no use to leave that/ she muttered; and before I 
could prevent her, it was emptied. 

^Now, then/ she said coolly > but as she replaced the glass 
Mr. Basil came into the room. 

I shall never forget the look of disgust and horror that came 
over his face when he saw the glass in Aline^s hand. She saw 
it too. Her temper rose immediately. 

* Why are you prying on me like this ? ^ she said angrily. 
^ One would think you and Olga v/ere my keepers. You are 
looking as though you would like to strike me, just because I 
helped myself to a glass of wine. You would sooner see me 
faint than let me have a drop, I know I ^ 

would sooner see you dead I ^ he returned with sup- 
pressed passion. ^ Aline, how dare you break yoiir promise 
to me ? You will have to answer to me for this.^ 

^ I generally have to answer to you, don^t I ? No woman 
had a more bitterly hard taskmaster. But I am not going 
to talk to you to-night, or to Olga, either. You may both 
go back to your fine friends and tell them I am taken ill. 
Perhaps you would like to lock me up in my own room 
first ? He did that once, Olga, only George came and let me 
out.^ 

I never saw anything more terribly tragic than her face and 
voice as she stood there in her velvet dress, with her white 
gleaming neck and arms, and that defiant look in her eyes. 
It was as though the devil had entered into her. I could not 
bear the sight, or to hear her speaking to him in that fierce 
mocking tone. I coitld not be silent. I put my arms round 
her, and prayed her to desist. 

'Do not speak so. Aline; to-morrow you will be sorry that 
you have made him so unhappy. Come away with me, dear; 
1 will take care of you; no one shall talk to you to-night. 
Let me go with her, Mr. Basil; I will help her, poor thing!'' 

The tears were running down my face as I. spoke, for it 


860 THE BE ARCH FOR RABIL LYHDHURST. 


was too much to see him standing there looking so white and 
hopeless. He did not speak, only drew hack to let us pass. 
As Aline yielded to my entreaties, I took her to her room, 
and after a little while slie consented to undress and go to 
bed. Her passion seemed to die away the moment she lost 
sight of her husband’s reproachful face; she even thanked me 
in a subdued voice for my services. 

I stayed with her until I thought she would sleep, and then 
I went downstairs. All the guests were gone, and only Au: t 
Catherine and Mr. Basil were in the drawing-room. 

^ Has Hubert gone too ? ’ I asked, looking round. 

^ Yes, dear. He was anxious about his wife, so Basil said 
he would take you home later. It is a fine night, and if you 
wrap up well you v/ill come to no harm.^ 

^ Oh no; but I am sorry to take Mr. Basil out.’ 

^ There is no need to be sorry about such a trifle,’ he returned 
gravely. 

And then Aunt Catherine helped me on with, riiy wraps, 
and whispered to me that I had been very kind, and that I 
must come to-morrow, early, and then I joined Mr. Basil in 
the dark avenue. 

I thought he was never going to speak to me, and I feared 
to address him^ But as we turned into the road he said, in a 
constrained voice : 

‘1 hope you do not think me uncivil to-night. Miss Leigh; 
but I feel as though I cannot talk.’ ^ And then he added hur- 
riedly : ^ I have had a blow.’ 

^Yes, I know. Please do not treat me as a stranger; I 
would rather be silent too;’ and then we walked on, and 
nothing was said until we reached Fircroft. 

I had shaken hands with him, and was about to leave him, 
but he called me back. 

-‘I haven’t thanked you,’ he said hoarsely, and rather indis- 
tinctly. ^ You know I haven’t thanked you for what you have 
done to-night.’ 

^ Because I have done nothing,’ I replied, trying to speak 
cheerfully, ^ and no thanks are due, Mr. Basil,’ for he was 
looking at me very strangely. ^ I want to ask you one thing 
—will you. try to forgive Aline this once ?’ 

He remained silent. It was not possible for hiin to tell a 
lie. In his heart he knew he had not forgiven her. 

‘Please — ^please behind to her; she knows she has done 
wrong. To-morrow she will be sorry for having grieved you.’ 

‘ How long will her sorrow last, do you think ? ’ 

‘ I cannot tell. But, Mr. Basil, think it is until seventir 


‘ZF I WERE ONLY LIKE YOU!^ 361 

times seven. Will you not get her to make another promise, 
and help her to keep it ? ^ 

^ I will try/ he returned briefly, but he could not trust 
himself to say more;, the iron of his degradation had entered 
into his soul. 

I could read his hopelessness in his tone. There was a set, 
stern look on his face as he turned away. But he had said he 
would try, and I knew he would keep his word. 

I was so wretched that night that I cried myself to sleep. 
Oh, the terrible mystery of these fettered sotils whom Satan 
has bound, who are expiating, perhaps, the sins of former 
generations, in whose blood there is some hereditary taint! 
I shuddered as I recalled that scene — Aline standing there in 
the pride of her beauty, and the unholy light of a fierce long- 
ing in her eyes 1 It seemed to nie as though the pit "Were 
opening before me — as though unhallowed presences were 
thronging round their victim, triumphing over the weak un- 
disciplined will. Oh God! what need for us to pray daily, 
‘Lead us not into temptation!^ Us — not me; us — our frail 
and tempted brothers; our sisters trembling on the brink of 
ruin — our sorrow-stricken sinful ones ! I wept bitterly as I 
whispered the clause over and over again, God help them! 
God help them both! 


CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 

‘IF I WERE ONLY LIKE YOuU 

‘There is nothing* in this world can make me joy.^ 

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, 

Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.’ 

‘ King JohnJ* 

‘You have been as God’s good angel in our house ; 

God bless you for it — God reward you for it !’ 

^ Enoch Arden,^ 

I turned my steps very reluctantly in the direction of the 
Hall the next morning. On my way I encountered Mr. Basil. 
He was riding Ladybird, and his new retriever, Rolf, was run- 
ning beside him. He just lifted his hat as he passed, but 
took no further notice; and the next minute he had galloped 
out of sight. 

Marsden was coming down the avenue on an errand to tha 


362 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 


village. She stopped to tell ms that Mrs. Basil was not very 
well. She was lying down in the Lady^s Room, and had given 
strict injunctions that no one but Miss Olga was to go to her; 
she had slept badly, and complained of neuralgic pains in her 
head. 

I found her lying on a couch, drawn up to the fire, in her 
ruby plush tea-gown. It was a dull^ gloomy day, but the 
Lady^s Room looked warm and cozy. I could see at once 
that she had been crying; her eyes were much swollen, and 
she looked altogether ill and subdued. As her head ached, 
she had unfastened her heavy plaits, and I noticed they 
reached to her knee. I could not help commenting on their 
length. 

^ Oh, my hair has always given me plenty of trouble,' she 
said languidly; ^but now I have a maid to help me, I do not 
mind so much. When I was with George, I used to roll it 
up anyhow. George grumbled sometimes. He pretended to 
be proud of my hair — but, there! doii^t let us talk of George. 
Take off your hat, and draw up that easy-cliair where I can 
see you.' 

‘ I am so sorry your head aches so badly.' 

'What does it signify — headache or heartache? I have 
got them both. I did not sleep a wink last night. I know 
what that means. I told Basil so. But he is downright 
cruel ! He won't let me have a drop of chloral ! I told him 
George let me have it sometimes, just to quiet me, and he 
said more shame to him for giving in to my whims. Olga, 1 
don’t want to grumble about Basil— poor old fellow ! — for he 
has been as nice as possible this morning; only it is like 
moving a rock, trying to change his mind when he has once 
made it up.' 

' Has he been sitting with you ? ' 

‘ Yes, for a long time. He found me crying because I was 
-low and wretched about last night; so, instead of scolding 
me as he generally does, he sat down and talked to me. He 
made me tell him how much I had taken — but it was only 
three glasses, not a drop more — and then he said how he had 
felt ready to sink into the ground with shame and vexation 
at seeing me so weak, and that he felt worse about it because 
you were there to see it all. Olga, he thinks a deal about you 
— I can see that — but I am not going to be jealous. You 
were like a little white angel to me Inst night; and when you 
came and put your arms round me, and said you would take 
care of me, I felt as though the devil was leaving me ! ' 

'Aline/ I said, kneeling down beside her, 'you will never 


‘/F I WERE ONLY LIKE YOU!' 


863 


grieve your husband so again ? You are going to be good ? 
You will be good, will you not ? ^ 

A distressed look came into her beautiful eyes; . it was 
almost a look of fear. ^ 

' ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. told Basil I would try. 
I would have told him anything to give him comfort, poor 
boy! But I cannot trust myself.’ 

‘ Why not, dear ? ’ 

^ Oh, what a question ! ’ throwing herself back on her pil- 
lows. ^What a child you are, Olga, to ask such a thing! 
But, there ! I cannot expect either you or Basil to understand 
me — only George does.’ 

, ^Will you try to make me understand? I do so want to 
help you.’ 

^ So does Basil — he told me so ; and there were tears in his 
eyes; and yet he is not a soft sort either. He said there was 
nothing he would not do for me, if I only kept straight; and 
he would be fond of me, and stay with me, if only I would 
not shame him before his people. It made me cry to hear 
him; and then I promised over again,’ 

^ Oh, I am so glad ’ , 

But she stopped me impatiently. 

‘ There is nothing to be glad about. I have made promises 
before, and broken them as I did last night. Oh, Olga ! don’t 
you see what I mean ? When I am sane — when the devil is 
not tempting me — I think I can keep my promise* easily. I 
won’t notice the craving. I hate the very eight of the poison- 
ing stuff. I wonder how I can ever bear the smell of it. And 
then, in a minute, it i^ all up with me, and I must have it, 
though I die for it! It is madness! I have often told George 
so; and I know he believes me. But Basil won’t let me say 
the word. With all his kindness, he is hard. He says many 
a man has fought a fiercer battle and conquered, and that it 
is my will that is weak.’ 

I found it impossible to answer her. I had no experience. 
I only kneAV she was in deadly danger, and that we must save 
her in spite of herself. Madness or sin,, she must be saved ! 
I asked her, almost humbly, how we could best help her. 

‘ By being kind to me,’ she returned, without a moment’s 
hesitation. ‘ I am wretched enough without people giving 
me more to bear. I asked Basil this morning if he would let 
me go to George for a little, but he won’t hear of it. He says 
George spoils me, and that I had better stop with him.’ 

^ Would you not rather be with your husband, Aline?’ 

, But she flushed almost painfully at the question. 


364 THE SEARCH FOR RABIL ZYHDHURBT. 


I like being with Basil, of course. What a question ! As 
though a woman doesn’t care to be with her husband ! But 
if I make him unhappy, I would rather go away. Oh ! ’ — as 
a great t>3ar rolled dovyn her cheek — ‘ if 1 were only like you, 
Olga ! If he could look up to me and respect me as he does 
you, there would be some chance of happiness for us. But I 
nave worn out his love, and I cannot bear the thought that ho 
only pities and tolerates me. It drives me crazy sometimes, 
and then I quarrel with him.’ 

^ But, all the same, you must not leave him.’ 

^ Who said I meant to leave him ? ’ looking at me oddly. 
^You need not get notions in your head. If you were my 
friend, you would ask him to let me stay with Georr^o for a 
bit; he v/ould listen to you, and he only gets angry with me if 
I propose it.’ 

‘ Indeed, I could not speak to him on such a subject. What 
v/ould he think of such interference on my part ? ’ 

‘ Oh, very well, then ; I won’t say any more,’ rather wearily. 
‘ V ought not to expect people to take so much trouble about 
me, only I was afraid Basil was making a mistake, and that 
we should both suffer in the end for it; but it can’t be 
helped.’ 

This speech did not tend to make me more comfortable, 
but I thought it wiser to take no notice; so I spoke of other 
things. I contrived to interest her iat last, and the rest of 
the morning passed more pleasantly. By Aunt Catherine’s 
wish I had remained to luncheon, and I did not leave Aline 
until six. She was feeling much better by that time, and 
promised to go down to dinner as usual. We had Keggie in, 
and played with him ; and she was in a far more comfortable 
frame of mind when I left her. 

I found Aunt Catherine alone in the drawing-room, and I 
took the opportunity of stating Aline’s wish to go to her 
brother. 

She told me at once that Mr. Basil v/as much against it. 

MYe were talking about it last night when Basil came back 
from Fircroft,’ she said, ^and he told me Aline had been 
speaking about it. Ho gave me his reasons. lie declares Mr. 
Barton spoils her; that he is so fond of her that he often 
gives way to her whims and fancies; and that — that is why 
she liked to be with him.’ 

^ It is natural that she should like to be with her brother, 
especially when he has been so good to her.’ 

^Yes; but, Olga, you do not quite grasp the situation. 
Basil says that Mr. Barton is too busy to watch or control her 


^IF I WERF! ONLY LIKE YOU I'' 


365 


properly. More than once she has eluded him and Becky. 
You see, Mr. Barton is in the shop, and Becky downstairs; 
and Basil says she is safer here.^ 

‘ Of course he may be right.’ 

‘ I think we are bound to leave the matter to him. If Basil 
has ever failed in his duty, he is certainly making up for it 
now. Even Aline tells me how kind he is to her. w e ought 
not to find fault with him because he is unwilling to trust 
her out of his sight.’ 

‘1 hope you do not think me interfering?’ I stammered; 
but she only laughed at this. 

never think anything to your discredit; but, Olga, you 
must not be too anxious. I am afraid, when I look at you, 
that we are burthening you too much with our worries. You 
are losing your .blooming looks. I sometimes think you are 
not quite so cheerful as my little companion of La Maison- 
nette.’ 

I- disclaimed this notion rather hotly, and with a fine flow 
of words; but finally I did own that my divided duties were 
troubling me — that I felt I was neglecting Kitty: ‘Even 
nurse complains that I am no good to her — and I was always 
nurse's right hand; and now Kitty is ill, Mab and Jessie are 
running wild.’ 

‘Yes, I see. We have been very selfish, I am afraid; but 
the dear little girls shall not be sacrificed. You shall stay at 
home, Olga, and do your duty, and I will talk to Aline. Per- 
haps you could spare an hour late in the afternoon just to 
keep my troublesome niece in a good temper. Do you think 
that could be managed ?’ looking at me inquiringly. 

‘ Oh yes,’ I returned cheerfully ; ‘ I could easily spare the 
hour after the schoolroom tea. Hubert generally sits with 
Kitty then.’ And so it was arranged, and 1 went home with 
a lighter heart, feeling that Aunt Catherine would do her 
best for me. 

I was very thankful that we had come to this understand- 
ing, for the next day Kitty was so much worse that I could 
not have left her, and my hands were so full with her and 
the children that I had not a spare minute. And when the 
afternoon closed in, I had to take my place in Kitty’s room 
instead of running up to the Hall for the hour’s chat with 
Aline. I sent her a little note, and begged her to come and 
see me instead, for I feared that I should be kept in the fol- 
owing day; but she took no notice of this, and we did not 
meet for three whole days. 

f When at last I found my way to her room, she received me 


866 THE SEARCH EOR BASIL LYJSfBHURST. 


80 coldly that I was quite hurt. I thought she looked dull 
and out of humor. She was lying on her couch with a novel 
in her hand^ but she did not seem to be reading. She turned 
her cheek to me — she had never kissed me yet — but' did not 
ask me to take otf my hat. I sat down on the rug, and asked 
what she had been doing. 

‘ Doing ? there is not much to do in this place/ she said 
fretfully. Basil has been v/anting me to take walks with 
him; but I am not fond of muddy lanes, and roads with 
nothing in them, and I am getting sick of driving. I do 
think the country in’ November is perfectly deadly; and there 
is Basil shooting, and riding, and playing tennis, and can^t 
■find his daylong enough! No wonder he feels sleepy just 
when I am most wide awake, and want him to play cards or do 
something amusing I ^ 

‘ Country people are not fond of sitting up late; and I know 
of old that Mr. Basil is an early riser.^ ^ 

^ Yes; and he v/ants to persuade me to be an earlier riser 
too. “No, thank you,^^ I said to him; “the day is twice too 
long already, and there is no need to lengthen it.” Why, he 
is out and about with Eeggie long before I can bring myself 
to think of getting up. Actually my mother-indaw was lec- 
turing me yesterday, and telling me I ought to be more with 
Basil. “He has enough of me already,” was my answer; for 
I wasn^t in the best of humors. I had been asking Basil to 
take me to Brighton for a week or two, just to see a bit of 
life, and what do you think was his objection ? He did not 
like to leave his mother so soon. Did you ever hear anything 
so ridiculous ? ^ 

can understand Mr. Basil would be reluctant to leave 
her. You can see for yourself how happy she is.^ 

^ Oh yes ; she is happy enough, and so are they all. It is 
only poor me who is always in the way. You are getting 
tired of me, too, Olga. I always tired every one but George.’ 

George, always George! how she harped on that one string! 
Was it affection, or mere contrariness, that made her dwell 
on this one thought ? She made more than one reproachful 
speech about my leaving her for three days, and I could not 
get her to sympathize with my home troubles; in fact, she 
was very unsatisfactory altogether. 

I kept my promise to Aunt Catherine, and, when it v/as 
possible, spent at least an hour daily with Aline. 

I never saw Mr. Basil, except at church; I got it into my 
head that he avoided me. He was often in the house when I 
paid my visit, but he never came near his wife’s room. Once 


^IF I WERE OlfLY LIKE YOU/^ 


867 


I heaYd him playing in the nursery with Reggie, and another 
time he was crossing the hall to the library; but I could not 
find out whether he had seen me or not. 

Aunt Catherine used to come to Fircroft when she wanted 
me. She said there was no other place where she could talk 
to me ^ietly. 

Hr. Fleming had paid his promised visit, but had only re- 
mained three days. Aunt Catherine said very little about 
him, except that Aline had been unusually sulky, and had re- 
mained in her own room, and not all her husband’s entreaties 
could induce her to be friendly with Mr. 'Fleming. When 
she dined with them she scarcely opened her lips. 

I was not satisfied about Aline. Her moodiness continued; 
she never seemed glad to see me now, or pressed me to remain; 
and when business prevented me from paying my daily visit, 
she never came to Fircroft, or questioned me as to the reason 
of my absence. I could not find out what she did with her- 
self all day; and Aunt Catherine’s account was most unsatis- 
factory. She caid Mr. Basil was worried to death, and. that 
Aline was trying him dreadfully. She found fault with 
everything he did; she would not be civil to his friends, and 
several .of the best people were offended because she refused 
to see them. She grumbled if her husband went out shooting 
or riding, and complained that she was always alone; and yet 
if he gave up his amusements to stay with her, she could not 
be induced to do anything. She had taken it into her .head 
lately that she was out of health, and wanted sea-air and 
tonics; but Dr. Langham had told them privately that it was 
nothing but ennui. He v^anted her to ride, and play tennis — 
do anything, in fact, but sit over novels and fancy-work in 
a hot room. She had. been very angry, and had quarrelled 
with him, declaring that she would die before she sent for 
him again; and that day she had frightened them all dread- 
fully for she had actually gone off to Brighton by herself for 
a few hours. 

^ If she had nci encountered Eeynolds in the station and 
told him where she was going, we should have been seriously 
alarmed,’ went on Aunt Catherine; ^as it was, Basil had a 
shooting party, and did not come in until five. Aline only 
returned an hour later. We had sent the carriage to meet all 
the trains. Basil was very angry; but he could not make the 
least impression on her. She was most provoking, told him 
Dr. Langham had ordered her air and exercise, and that she 
had had a fine blow on the Parade, and had amused herself 
looking at the shops, and she would not promise him not to 


868 THE SEARCH FOR hASIL LYHDHURST 


do it again. Basil made himself quite wretched about it; he 
said she had just done it to vex him, and how could he be 
sure that she had not begun her old habits again ? Her rush- 
ing off in this way looked like it, and he thought from her 
manner that she was very much e:xcited.^ 

I saw Aline the next day, and she gave me her own version 
of the matter. 

was in a temj^er, I know,’ she said frankly; ^that Dr. 
Langham had put me out, making Basil believe it was just 
my fancy and nothing else; but I should like them both to 
feel as I do for a few hours — they would be ready to wish 
themselves dead, I believe. I had not thought of Brighton 
till I was close to the station, for I was so mad with them all 
that I had walked out of the house ; and then, all at once, I 
thought I would have a bit of a spree, as George calls it, so 
I took my ticket— but I had the grace to tell Eeynolds v/here 
I was going. It was a beautiful afternoon, and I quite en- 
joyed myself. The shops were getting ready for Christmas, 
BO I bought some things for Keggie, and walked down the 
Esplanade, looking at all the fine carriages. I would not 
walk on King’s Eoad at last because folks stared so ; and I 
got a cup of coffee and a sandwich, and felt ever so much 
better. There was a fine fuss with Basil when I got back. I 
asked him at last if men generally kept their wives in leading-* 
strings. He was not over-polite in his reply; but I had 
had my fun, and didn’t care. What are you looking grave 
about, Olga? Of course you side v/ith Basil — you always 
do!’ 

I let this pass, and only told her quietly that it was unkind 
on her part to give them such a fright; if she had not met 
Eeynolds, no one would have known what to think. 

^ What should they think, but that I was amusing myself ? ’ 
she returned, staring at me. am not a child to be run 
over, and I don’t want a nurse with me. I tell you what it 
is, Olga: Basil does not trust me out of his sight; he wants 
to keep me a sort of prisoner here. I may drive about v,^ith 
my mother-in-law or Aunt Catherine, or I may walk with 
him or Marsden; but I must not go a yard beyond the gate 
by myself. How, do you suppose I am going to stand that ? 
I am so nervous now that I could get into a passion at a min- 
ute’s notice. My life is too dull. I tell Basil so, but he won’t 
listen to me; and now you’re neglecting me, and I haven’t a 
creature to amuse me.’ 

^ Oh, Aline ! what am I to do ? ’ I replied, much distressed 
at this selfish remark. ^Do you, know, dear Kitty is really 


^IF I WERB ONLY LIKE TOUP 


very ill • her lungs are affected, and Dr. Langham wan1;s Th^ 
to go to Cannes. Hubert is in a dreadful way ; he would 
never believe it was anything but weakness and a bad cold, 
and now he means to have a physician down from London to 
see her.’ 

‘ She has always been delicate, hasn’t she ?’ but there was 
Uot much sympathy in Aline’s tone. 

‘No, only latterly; but now we are all very anxious. Jem 
cauie home yesterday, and he says he is quite shocked at the 
alteration in her; but he did not tell Hubert so. It takes all 
nurse’s time waiting on her, and everything else devolves on 
me. Jane helps in the nursery; but with Jem at home and 
the pupils, there is so much to be done: it will be a sad 
Christmas for us all.’ 

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She looked at me attentively, and 
then looked away again. ‘I think T shall hate Christmas 
more than usual this year. My mother-in-law is making such 
a fuss about it already. There is to be a tree for Keggie, and 
a children’s party, and a supper to the villagers, and I don’t 
know what beside; and, after that, Basil is going to Leeds, 
and he wants me to go, too.’ 

‘That will be very nice,’ I observed; but she shook her 
head with a strange smile. 

‘I am not going. I told him so at once. “You need not 
expect to have my company,” I said to him; “and, what is 
more, you do not want it — you will be a deal more comfortable 
without me.” For, you see, I could not forget he had refused 
to take me to Brighton. He chose to be put out about it, and 
told me that “ I was the worst wife a man could have, and 
that I would do nothing to please him.” My lord was quite 
in a huff about it — what ! are you going already ? ’ — for 1 was 
too much out of patience to listen to her any longer. 

How could she treat him so ? would not any husband resent 
such inconsiderate behavior ? I was fast losing all hope of 
Aline; an evil spirit still dominated her — could see that 
plainly. 

I was just crossing the hall, when I saw Mr. Basil. He had 
just come in from shooting, and was warming hiihself before 
the big fireplace. He came forward and shook hands with mo 
rather gravely. I had not seen him for a week or two, and I 
noticed a worn, harassed look on his face. 

, He began by telling me that he had been walking home 
with Jem. 

‘ I am sorry to hear such a bad account of Mrs. Leigh/ he 
laid kindly. 

24 : 


870 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNLHURST, 

• V^e are ail terribly anxious about her/ I returned, in a 
low voice. 

do not wonder. I must come and pee Mr. Leigh. I 
bave — I have been too busy to call lately.^ 

* Please do not trouble about it; Aunt Catherine comes 
nearly every day.^ 

^And Aline ? ’ 

^ Oh no ! Aline never comes. I do not think she likes pay- 
ing calls; I have asked her so often.^ 

‘You must think it strange after all your kindness to her. 
I am afraid you have spoilt her — she misses your visits terri- 
bly — do you not think so looking at me so anxiously that I 
knew he meant something else. ‘Do you not think her 
changed for the worse ?■ would have been nearer his meaning. 

‘ Yes, 1 think so. Aline is certainly not in good spirits.^ 

‘Are you in good spirits ? Am I, for the matter of that ? 
But you and I do our best to struggle against depression; 
but Aline will not make an elfort. I do not know what will 
become of us. if she will not try to be happier. But, there ! I 
will not keep you listening to my grumbling; you are worried 
enough without that. Take care of yourself, for all our 
eakes;^ and he shook hands again very warmly. 

The kindness and sympathy in his look and tone made up 
for Aline’s indifference, and I went home more cheered. 
Kitty was a trifle better that evening, and Jem and I had a 
long talk, and altogether things were more comfortable. 

The next day 1 was busier than ever. Harry and Mr. 
Campbell were leaving in the afternoon, and Mr. Cunning- 
ham was to follow in the morning. There was no possibility 
of seeing Aline. Mr. Basil came in the afternoon and re- 
mained a long time with Hubert, but I only saw him for a 
minute. He was going over to Lewes on business the next 
day, he said, and should not be home until late. If I could 
spare an hour to sit with Aline he should be grateful; but I 
was not to inconvenience myself; 

I made up my mind that I would go at all hazards. I am 
thankful now that I did, for Aline was much nicer to me. 
She received me kindly; told me I looked pale and must have 
a good rest. I did not think she looked well herself, but she 
did not. complain. She was sleeping badly, that was all, she 
said; but it was no use telling Basil so, for he would not let 
her have a sleeping-draught, so she must just suffer. There 
was a weary, heavy look in her eyes that did not belie her 
words. 

But she was not inclined to talk about herself. Contrary 


‘/F / WERE ONLY LIKE YOU/' 


871 


to her usual custom, she asked for Reggie to come in, and-ehe 
seemed so occupied with him that I was not obliged to exert 
myself. 

I cannot remember that she said one sharp thing during 
my visit. Even when Reggie clambered up on my lap and 
refused to leave me for her, she only smiled sadly. 

^ He has liked you best from the firsV she said gently. 
^Reggie has taken a wonderful fancy to you;^ and she leant 
back in her chair and looked at us both in a way that made 
me feel uncomfortable. 

I whispered to Reggie to go and give her a kiss, but he re- 
fused. ‘ I will kiss my Dear instead,^ he said, in his pretty, 
wilful way. We were spoiling our darling among us. 

‘ Let him be, Olga,^ she said, with a sigh. ‘ I don^t want 
Reg to be ordered to kiss me. He has plenty to love him — 
haven't you Reg ? ^ 

Emma came, in presently to fetch him, and then, as it was 
getting late, I rose to go, but Aline made me sit down again. 

^ Give me a few more minutes,^ she said quite beseechingly. 
‘ I don^t seem to like to part with you to-night. I haven^t 
been nice to you lately, have I, Olga ? ^ 

I laughingly disclaimed this, but she shook her head. 

‘ You are too good-hearted to tell me so, but I know I have 
been detestable. I haven^t been Allie at all.. I was just the 
Squire^s lady; and somehow the character did not fit me; the 
velvet gov/n wasn’t so magical, after all.’ 

She sighed — such a weary sigh it was ! — and went on : 

‘ If I had known you before, Olga — if we had been sisters 
— it might have been different.’ 

‘But you have a good husband,’ I remonstrated, for it 
struck me that she undervalued her blessings. 

‘Yes; but Basil is too high; I can’t reach him. We were 
never intended for each other; I see that now. He wanted a 
different 'sort of v/oman to help him along. There ! I won’t 
talk any more. I am a bit lov/ to-night, and I know you are 
fidgeting to be off;’ and then, as I stooped over her, she put 
up her face and kissed me for the first time — a long, linger- 
ing kiss. 

‘ Good-by, dear,’ she said very gently. 

‘If she were always as nice as she has been to-day!’ I 
thought, as I went down the dark avenue. ‘And yet how 
unhappy she seemed ! ’ And then stopped and looked back; 

The Hall door was open, for Bennet had insisted on v/atch>. 
ing me down the avenue, because, as he said, the big trees 
made it so lonesome. A Rood of warm, soft radiance streamed 


S72 THE SEARCH FOB BASIL LYHDHURST. 

out into the darkness. How could any one be unhappy who 
called that home ? I said to myself, for I loved every stone 
and tree about the place. A chime rang out through the 
frosty air— the ringers were practising for Christmas. Over 
my held the stars were shining in the dark wintry sky. As 
I passed the lodge I could hear the children singing carols. 
It would not he a happy Christmas at Fircroft with its mis- 
tress ill upstairs. 

I did not see Aline the ne-t day; I was often obliged to 
omit my daily visit now. We had callers all the afternoon, 
and one of them stayed so late that there was only just time 
to dress for dinner. I determined to go earlier the following 
afternoon, and to take Wilfred with me to play with Reggie. 

I rose with this idea. 1 was just finishing dressing, and 
Mab and Jessie were reading their morning psalm, verse by 
verse, as they always did, with Kitty, when nurse brought me 
a tiote' from Aunt Catherine. It was very short : 

^ My dear Olga, 

^Will you come round directly you have f nished breakfast ? 
I want to see you particularly. 

^^ours, 

^ Catherine Seftoit.^ 

It was certainly very inconvenient to be summoned away 
80 unceremoniously. My absence would interfere with the 
children's lessons, for I had now resumed them regularly. I 
begged Mab and Jessie, in Jem’s hearing, to go on with their 
practising and needlework until I returned, but to my sur- 
prise he offered to take my place. 

^ I will look after the youngsters,’ he said good-naturedly; 
^ there is evidently something up; Aunt Catherine seems 
flurried.’ 

J asked why he thought so, and he returned promptly: 

^ Well, she has not crossed her fs or dotted her t’s; so it is 
pretty evident that she is in some fix or other.^ 


^YOU MUST TAKE CARE OF ME, CEORCEV 373 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

YOU MUST TAKE CAEE OF ME, GEORGE.^ 

‘ But I had not so much of man in me, 

And all my mother came into my eyes, 

And gave me up to teare.’ 

* Henry V' 

. ‘ Mine eyes 

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful. 

‘ Cymheline. 

Jem^s shrewd remark only added to my uneasiness, and as 
soon as I could leave the breakfast table I ran across to the 
Hall. I thought Bennet looked a little mysterious as ho ad- 
mitted me, and I fancied there was something ominous in the 
way ho told mo that Miss Sefton was alone in the library. 

Aunt Catherine was sitting by the fire reading her business 
letters; she spoke to me in her usual manner, but I saw at 
once that she looked harassed and worried; as she held my 
hand, she said quietly: 

‘We are all much troubled, Olga, and you will be grieved 
to hear the reason — Aline has left us ! ^ 

‘ Aunt Catherine, what can you mean ? ^ 

‘She went away last night; she has gone back to her 
brother’s. She left a letter for Basil — he wishes me to show 
it to you;’ and without another word she put it into my hand.' 

I was too much shocked to speak; somehow, I had never 
expected anything like this. Aline’s handwriting was very 
clear and legible; the letter ivas evidently v/ritten with some 
degree of haste. It began abruptly: 

‘You must not be angry, Basil, when you hear that I have 
gone away and left you and Reggie. I am doing it for your 
good as well as my own. Things could not go on much longer 
as they have been going on, and so I thought it best to settle 
matters for myself. I have asked you over and over again to 
let mo go to George for a bit, but you would never listen to 
me. You were always too masterful with me, and treated me 
-like a child, as though I did not know what I wanted; but I 
was serious all along, and now I am going back to George, 
and it was a pity I ever left him, for I am not fit to lead your 
life, and the dulness of it is just killing me. 


874 THE SEARCH FOR RAJSIL LYNLHURBT. 

• Of course, you will be blaming me, and saying I am the 
worst wife any man could have, and I dare say it is the truth; 
but, for all that, you must not think I have not tried. Olga 
knows that I have. For a little bit I thought I could make 
myself happy — all the fine things pleased me, and I liked be- 
ing with you and Reggie; but leoon found out my mistake. 
You were always too high, and expected too much of me; 
and I could not get on with your people, and no one seemed 
to understand me but Olga, and she was always good as gold 
to me. I am sorry that I am to say good-by to Olga. 

But, Basil, you need not complain of nie too much, for, 
except that once when I was over-excited; I have kept myself 
straight — I have indeed; and I never tasted anything but 
coffee the day I went to Brighton. I will tell you the truth 
about that : I told the girl to bring me a glass of sherry, and, 
just as I was taking it out of her hand, I thought of you, and 
I put it down on the table, and said I would rather have the 
coffee; and I never tasted it, though the longing for it drove 
me out of thp shop at last. 'And when you were so angry 
with me for my spree, I thought I had not done so badly, 
after all. 

‘ But I could not keep it up, and that is why I am going to 
George, for I can^t trust myself any longer, and I might dis- 
grace you. You have had enough to bear, poor fellow! and 
you and Reg, bless his dear little heart ! will be better with- 
out me — I have known that all along, only it is not so easy 
ito say good-by. 

^ Now, Basil, you must mind what I say, and not come near 
me, for I am going to stop with George. I am tired of wish- 
ing you had not married me; but you are not the only one 
who has made a m’istake and lived to repent it, and v/e must 
just do the best we can for each other. And so God bless you ! 

^ Aline. 

^P.S. — Give my love fio Olga, and tell her not to fiet. I 
,was never worth the trouble she-took with me.^ 

^"What do you think of it, Olga 

think’ — but I could hardly speak for crying — I think 
that her heart was half broken before she could bring herself 
to write that letter.’ 

^Yes, but Basil is unhappy, too. Think of the painful 
•position in which she has placed him. He saj’^s this is worse 
to him than anything, that he will not be able to face people 
— you know how proud and sensitive he is. If she had never 
come to the Hall, of course things would not be so difficult to 


'YOU MUST TAKE CARE OF ME, &EORGE.' 875 

liim. I see that plainly. One thing — ^he is determined to' 
have her back/ 

^ But if she will not come ? ^ 

" ^ That is where we shall need your help/ Basil spoke of 
you at once. He wants you to go vfith me, and ‘try and bring 
her to a sense of her duty. He is so angry that he dare not 
trust himself to. speak to her; but he says, if she will only 
come back, he will not utter a v/ord of reproach.^ 

‘ Do you mean that we are to go to-day ? ^ 

^ No; not until Monday or Tuesday. Basil thinks' it will 
be better to leave her quiet for a few days; but he lias writ- 
ten to her. He brought his letter to show me : it was verjj 
short, and said very little; but she will see how hurt he is.) 
He told her that he hoped she would soon see things in 
difierent light, and remember that he had a right to be con- 
sidered. It was a very temperate, sensible letter; but he says' 
she always misunderstands him.' 

^ Do you think she had better come back. Aunt Catherine 
^ Don't ask for my opinion; I am perfectly hopeless; we^ 
Inust just do as -Basil wishes. He has a right, as he says, to* 
control his own wife. I have not given you his message. Hej 
begs you to do this kindness for him, as no one else has sd’ 
much influence over Aline. We are to tell her that he will 
overlook her imprudent step; but that she must come back 
to him. She may stop with Mr. Barton, if she likes, for 
two or three weeks, and then he will go and fetch her; but 
she must not remain so long av/ay that people will wonder at 
it — he does so dread any of his friends getting hold of this.': 

^ You have not told me yet how she left the Hall.' 

^No; I forgot.^ Lret me see, you did not come yesterday, 
and Marsden says she was looking for you all the afternoon; 
and she had Reggie with her until he went to bed. Basil was 
out shooting with Colonel Trafford all day, and did not get 
home till six. When he went upstairs to dress for dinner, he 
just looked in on Aline; she was lying on the couch in her 
tea-gown, and told him she had a headache, and should not 
come down to dinner. The room was almost dark, he said, 
for the fire was low, and he did not see her plainly; he wanted 
to ring for coals, but she would not let him. Only, just as 
he was going away, she called him back, and asked him to 
kiss her. He was a little surprised at that, for she had lately 
been so cold in her manner to him; but, of course, he kissed 
her at once, and told her that he should come up and sit with 
her after dinner.' 

^ Well ? ' for Aunt Catherine paused here. 


876 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


^Of course that was all he saw of .her. When he went up 
he only found the room empty, and the letter lying on the 
table. She must have changed her dress and slipped out of 
the garden way while we were at dinner. Reynolds felt a 
draught as he was bringing out the game, and discovered the 
side-door was wide open. We have no doubt that she took 
the eight o^clock train to town, but Basil did not dare to make 
any inquiries.’ 

^ Was Mrs. Lyndhurst very much upset ? ’ 

^Yes, but only on Basil’s account. You know she rather 
dislikes Aline than otherwise. Aline has always repelled her 
from the first, though she tried so hard* to bo kind to her. AVell, 
it is a miserable business; but we shall do no good talking 
about it. I think Tuesday will be soon enough to go to 
Holloway. Will you hold yourself in readiness for that day ? ’ 
am glad you did not say Wednesday. The physician is 
coming down that afternoon.’ 

^ No, we will say Tuesday. Thank you, my dean Then 
that is settled, and I ’will tell Basil so. Now I must answer 
my letters, so I need not hinder you any more. If possible, 
we intend to say nothing of Aline’s absence for a day or two^ 
so I must ask you to be cautious.’ 

^ I must not even tell Jem ? ’ 

^ Better not.’ 

I was a little sorry for this restriction, for Jem was such a 
safe person, but happily his sense of honor prevented him 
asking me any troublesome questions. If he were disap- 
pointed at my want of confidence, he certainly did not tell 
me so, only he was kinder than usual all that day as if he 
knew I was worried. 

I did not see Mr. Basil the next day; he was not at church 
either morning or evening. I heard afterward that he had 
walked over to Folgate for both services. I did not go up to 
the Hall on Monday, but in the afternoon Jem and I en- 
countered him in the village. He did not stop to speak, only 
passed on with a muttered greeting. I hoped Jem did not 
notice how embarrassed he seemed: he quite flitshed up, and 
scarcely looked at us. But Jem said nothing, only called off 
Hollo, who was sniffing' rather aggressively the butcher’s 
dog. 

We left Brookfield by a very early train on Tuesday. I 
think Aunt Catherine wanted people to believe that she was 
only going for a long day’s shopping. She said Mr. Basil 
seemed very low that morning; but she did not talk much 
about him or any one else. I think in her heart she dreaded 


^YOU MUST TAKE CARE OE. ME, OEORGE/ 377 

our errand as mucli as I did, for we both knew how stubborn 
Alin ^ ould be when she chose. 

It seemed '.o me a long time before we reached Holloway. I 
took a great dislike to the place, and wondered how Aline 
could bear such a sordid life after she had had a glimpse of 
better things. But I thought it better to keep these reflec- 
tions to myself, and it was not easy to understand a nature 
like hers. I have made up my mind since that she fled to it 
as a sort of refuge; that the fear of disgracing her hinband 
was the strongest ‘ feeling with her then, and drove her to 
take this singular step. 

I shjank behind Aunt Catherine as we entered the dark 
little shop. A tall young man behind the counter was serving 
a couple of women : when Aunt Catherine asked where Mr. 
Barton was, he pointed to the parlor, and went on weighing 
out the tea. He was a pale, weak-eyed young man, and I 
thought he looked after us rather oddly as we walked through 
the shop. 

The glass door stood half open. As Aunt Catherine pushed 
it gently, a sharp-faced little man, with rough sandy hair, 
jumped up out of the easy chair and confronted us. From 
his appearance I knew at once that this was Mr. Barton. He 
looked ill and flurried, and stared at us in the strangest way. 

‘1 hope we do not intrude, Mr. Barton, but this young lady 
and I have come to see Aline,^ began Aunt Catherine, but he 
interrupted her almost brusquely : 

^ Do you mean you have not got my telegram ? ’ 

' Telegram ? No. Why, what is the matter, Mr. Barton ? 
You look dreadful!^ 

‘ Not more dreadful than i feel, ma’am. To think I have 
lived to see this day ! ’ and here he choked, and seemed hardly, 
able to speak. ^ She has done for herself, my poor Aline — 
she will never vex us more ! This morning, when Becky went 
to call her, she was lying in her bed quite stiff and cold; and, 
— and had been dead for houivf! ’ 

Dead ! ’ For the moment I thought Aunt Catherine v'a,s 
going to faint, the s.hock was so great. I pushed her a chair, 
but I felt as though I could hardly support myself. But I 
notieed, all the same, that Mr. Barton wiped his eyes with a 
yellow silk handkerchief, covered with red spots, and felt a 
sickly sort of surprise at his taste, and then the room seemed 
to turn round, and after that, he began speaking again : 

^ We have had the doctors here— two of them; and they are 
pretty well agreed as to the cause of death — it is an overdose 
of chloral. She was never oaref ul about quantities, poor girl ! 


878 THE BE ARCH FOR BABIL LYNBHURBT, 


and they say, from tne look of the bottle, she has taken enough 
to kill her/ 

^ Tell rap one thing — forgive me if I hurt you, Mr. Barton 
— hut do' you think Aline-*-has — has done this on purpose ?’ 

Aunt Catherine could hardly get the words out, her agita- 
tion was so great. The poor little man recoiled as though he 
had been struck. 

^ Heaveu^s sake, ma^ara, no! What could have put such an 
idea into your head ? Allie, with all her faults, wasnT the girl 
to do a thing like that. Wait a bit till I can pull myself to- 
gether, and then I v/ill tell you all I know. But you may 
take my word for it — and I know Allie through and through 
— that she is as innocent of this as a child Unborn.^ 

^ Thank God I ^ and the color came back to Aunt Catherine’s 
lips; but I could only sob in a helpless, girlish way at the 
thought that Aline would never speak to me again; and 
neither of us could say a word of comfort to the poor heart- 
broken brother. 

^ I was struck all of a heap when I saw Allie come into tho 
shop on Saturday night,’ he began presently, ^looking like a 
duchess in her velvet and furs. We mostly close late on 
Saturday night, and it was half-past eleven then ; and as the 
customers were staring at her, I just whispered her to go into 
the parlor, and I would follow her. And the first words she 
said to me were, I have left Basil I ” And then, taking my 
two hands and squeezing them hard, she went on : You must 
take care of me, George I for the life there is driving me mad, 
and I could not ^answer for myself any longer.” 

^ Well, you maybe sure I reasoned with her, and nearly 
talked myself hoarse about it being her duty to stop with her 
husband and put up with things; but I could not make any 
impression on her, and she looked so white and ill that I was 
forced to send her to bed at last. But she toJd me next 
morning she had not slept a wink. But, for all that, she 
went to chapel along with me, and sat in her old place, and, 
vexed as I was with her contrariness, I couldn’t help being 
proud to see how folks stared at her, and how well set up and 
handsome she looked.’ 

And here he broke down, and it v/as some time before he 
.could recover himself. 

^ There is not a woman who can liold a candle to her; and 
she looked like a queen that day. And when we came home, 
and I saw her opposite me again, I was as pleased to get her 
back as I could be. We sat over the fire and had a long talk 
all the afternoon, and she told mg about things. Fleming — 


^YOU 3IUST TAKE CARE OF AIE, GEORGE: 379 

I mean Lyndhurst — had been good to her, 'could see that, 
and she was as fond of him as ever; but I cofild not get her to 
promise that she would go back to him; she kept saying over 
and over again, till it angered me to hear her, that he and 
Keggie were better without her — she seemed to have got a 
craze on that point. 

‘ I thought she got a little low toward evening, so I gave 
up my chapel that night and stopped with her; and I am 
glad I did. Ay, Allie, I am glad of that now ! And we talked 
about father and the old days; but if I mentioned her hus- 
band, she just hung her head and sat twisting the diamond 
rings on her fingers, as though she hardly knew how to bear 
herself. The next day I saw little of her, being busy in the 
shop ; but at dinner-time I thought she looked pale. She 
was in one of her silent moods at tea-time, and got up before 
|We had half finished, and went up to her room. Later on, 
Becky saw her coming upstairs with her bonnet on, and asked 
(Where she had been; but Allie never answered her, except to 
say her head ached, and she was going to bed. I had my 
misgivings,’’ Becky said to me this morning, ^^that she had 
been after no good, and I looked after her pretty sharply, 
until she was safe in bed. But she Avas too deep for me.” 
She must have got an old prescription made up — for she once 
had to have sleeping-draughts; but she did not go to any 
chemist who knew her. It was carelessness that made her 
take the overdose, most likely, as Dr. Baddeley says she may 
have been impatient to sleep, and taken all there was to have; 
and no one found out anything about it till Becky went in 
and pulled up the blind this morning,’ finished Mr. Barton, 
in such an accent of misery that my tears flowed faster than 
ever. 

^ May we see her ? ’ asked Aunt Catherine, in a low voice. 
^Olga vou would like to see her;’ and a dreary sort of gleam 
came into Mr. Barton’s eyes. 

^ You shall see Allie, and welcome; and you will say fox' 
yourself that she looks like a picture. And as for this young 
lady, who has been so good to my poor girl, it is little I could 
refuse her. Shall I lead the way, ma’am ? There is no need 
to call Becky, for though she is ready, she is rough, and quiet 
Avays have always suited Allie best;’ and talking under his 
breath in this innocent, garrulous fashion, he preceded us up 
^the steep, narrow stairs. 

It was a small room, but very neatly furnished, and the first 
febject that attracted my attention was a beautifully-framed 
photograph of Mr. Basil and Reggie. The bed stood in the 


880 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 

corner, covered with a w^hite sheet. Aunt Catherine folded 
It back gently, and beckoned me to stand beside her. 

'Like a picture! ^ Never had I seen anything so beautiful 
— no sleeping babe ever seemed more calm and peaceful than 
Aline looked as she lay there, with her white hands crossed 
upon her breast. 

There was something touching in the simple arrangements. 
Eough but kindly hands had been at work. They had un- 
fastened the coils of hair, and two long plaits framed tho 
beautiful face. The sullenness that had so often clouded 
it in life v;ould mar it no longer. There was no need to ask 
if Aline slept sweetly— there was even the semblance of a 
smile on the lips. 

' Do not cry so bitterly, Olga,’ -whispered Aunt Catherine, 
in a broken voice. "Who can doubt that with the All-merci- 
ful there is mercy ? If she has failed, she has also repented.’ 

' You are right there/ returned Mr. Bafton, who had over- 
heard this. ' Allie, with all her faults, was good in her owii 
way. I used to tell Fleming so. Never a night that she did 
not say her prayers; I could hear her sometimes at them, 
speaking quite loudly. " Tied and bound with the chain of 
my sins ” — I heard her say these words once. And it was 
beautiful to hear her singing hymns in chapel. You had a 
deal to bear, Allie; but I always said others were to blame, not 
you. And I believe it from my heart.’ 

I could scarcely listen to the end of the sentence. Some- 
one was coming up the stairs with weary, flagging footsteps 
— but I recognized them.. The telegram had reached him — 
he had followed us very closely. I shrank behind the bed- 
curtains. How I wished I could escape before he entered the 
room I 

'Basil — oh, my poor boy!’ in a nitiful voice from Aunt 
Catherine* 

But he did not seem to hear it, or notice any one, as ho 
walked straight to the bed. His face was pale, and his eyes 
had the dazed look of a sleep-walker, and held some horror in 
them. No, he did noi see us; he saw nothing but the marble 
v.^hiteness of the still figure that lay before him. 

Poor Mr. Barton could not long keep silence. 

‘ So you’ve come, Fleming — you have come to see the last 
of Allie ! She v/ill never vex you more, poor girl ! ’ 

Mr. Basil put his hand almost roughly on his shoulder. 

'Don’t speak to me like that, George; I cannot bear it! 
If I could have guessed that she would do such a thing, I 
v^ould have followed her at once/ 


YOJT MUST TAKE CARE OF ME, GEORGE.^ 881 


Then I knew that the same terrible thought that had been 
m Aunt Catherine's mind was in his also. 

'Basil, it was not that; it was an accident. Oh, my dear, 
do not think that for a moment! ^ 

But I heard no more. I crept softly out of the room, and 
Went downstairs. Becky was laying the table in the littlo 
parlor. She was a grim, red-haired woman. As she carried 
away her tray, I saw her eyes’ were red with crying; but she 
did not speak to me. it seemed to me that a long time passed; 
it must have been nearly an hour. I paced up and down the 
little room, or looked through the stand of plants down into 
the yard below. What a homely, shabby little place it was! 
and yet there was an air of comfort pervading it. The fire 
burnt cheerily; a large black cat was stretched on the rug; 
Mr. Barton’s pipe and newspaper lay on the shelf beside his 
elbow-chair; a walnut-wood workbox, evidently Aline’s, was 
on the small chiffonnier. Presently Aunt Catherine came 
down to me alone. 

'He is better now, Olga,’ she said, with gentle composure. 
' He and Mr. Barton are still talking; but they are not in that 
room. My poor child, you must be faint with want of food; 
it is nearly three o’clock. We must take something quickly, 
and then Basil wishes us to go home. He will follow later 
in the evening; there is so much to arrange, poor fellow! ’ 

' You will not stop with him ? I could find mv way, indeed 
I could. Aunt Catherine.’ 

' No; he does not want me. He will be better alone; he is 
quite calm now he knows that his worst fear is not verified. 
I think if it had been ’ — ^with deep emotion — ' Basil would 
never have held up his head again; but we are all spared that.’ 

It Was a long, dreary journey home. Aunt Catherine 
iscarcely spoke; a sense of unreality took possession of me as 
I looked out into the darkness as the glimmering hedgerows 
seemed to fly past. Yesterday, at this hour. Aline was alive 
in the fulness of nealth and beauty; to-day — oh, the pity of 
it ! the strange, inscrutable mystery that shrouded her ! 

I thought of that last message, so touching in its simplicity : 
' Give my love to Olga, and tell her not to fret; I was never 
worth the trouble she took with me! ’ and I felt that, in spite 
of the three short months I had known her, I had grown to 
love her deafly. Tes, in spite of her strange, undeveloped 
nature, her curious moods, the pain she had often given me, 
she had somehow wound herself round hiy heart. 

The carriage was at the station, and I Was put down at the 
gate of Firoroft. As I bade Aunt Catherine a sorrov/ful 


382 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURST/ 

good-night, she told me> in a lo.w voic^, for Reynolds was' 
standing by us, that she would let me know how things went 
on with them, 

Jem was at the dooi* to meet me., As I raised my face for 
him to kiss me, he put his hand under my chin and looked 
at me. 

^ Poor little woman ! ’ he said very kindly, * you are just 
worn out with all this. Nurse has lighted a fire in your room,' 
aud you can have your tea there in peace; and I will look 
after the kids, and keep them quiet/ 

Was it not dear and thoughtful of Jem ? but in real trouble 
there was no one who could sympathize so nicely as Jem. 

The quiet rest in my own room refreshed me, and later in the 
evening I was able to sit with Kitty; both she and Hubert 
were very much shocked at the news, which had reached them 
quite early. In fact, Hubert had been up at the Hall when 
the telegram arrived, and he had accompanie'd poor Mr, Basil 
to the station. 

nje would not have remembered to take his ticket if I had! 
not taken it for him,’ Hubert told me. ‘ I never saw a man' 
so upset; he seemed quite dazed. The telegram w^as too 
vaguely worded; it gave us margin to imagine all sorts of 
horrors. I am more thankful than I can say to hear your 
account, Olga; ’ and then they very kindly dismissed me to 
bed. 


CHAPTER XL. 

^TROUBLES SELDOM COME SINGLY.’ 

‘Does the road wind uphill all the way? 

Yes ; to the very end ! 

Will the day’s jouriiey take the whole long day? 

From morn to eve, my friend ! ’ 

Anon, 

* Be strong to bear, O heart I 
Nothing is vain ; 

Strive not, for life is care. 

And God sends pain ; 

Heaven is above, and there 
Rest will remain ’ 

Adelaide Anne Procter^ 

Hubert went to the Hall the next morning; on his return, 
he brought me a note from Aunt Catherine: 

/Basil is much calmer to-day,’ she wrote, / He is with Vir-^ 


^TROUBLES SELDOM COME SIEGLY.^ 


38S 


ginia now; lie says it does him good to be with her. Do you 
remember those sweet old words, Olga, As, one whom his 
mother comfo-fceth Perhaps some good may come out of 
dll this trouble, and those two may be drawn more closely to- 
gether. 

^ Basil has settled everything. Aline is to be brought here^ 
He says Mr. Barton at first seemed rather upset at the notion, 
but now he knows he is to come too, he makes no further 
objection. Basil has written to beg Mr. Fleming bo read the 
service. Everything will be as quiet as possible, and she is 
to be buried near the Seftons. Basil thinks her brother will 
be pleased at that. I am glad to see how thoughtful he is 
for Mr. Barton^s comfort; he will be with us for som6 days, 
for Basil insists that he should remain With us over Christmas. 
What a Christmas it will be, Olga! ’ 

Aunt Catherine's note was the one spot of comfort in the 
day. Alas! before evening came, the trouble at the Hall 
was blotted out of my mind by a nev/ and crushing blow. 
^ Troubles seldom come singly,' is not that what the proverb 
says ? but seldom, indeed, have ‘ the clouds returned after 
the rain ' quite so quickly ! 

The London physician came down in the afternoon. When 
he and Dr. Langham had visited the patient, there was a short 
consultation, and then Hubert was summoned. Later on Dr. 
Langham spoke to Jem. 

It was Jem who told me the result of their verdict. 

There was no hope for Kitty, they had told Hubert so 
plainly. The chill, in her enfeebled condition, had taken too 
strong a hold on her; rapid decline had set in. Dr. Lang- 
ham had been aware of this; but Hubert had refused to under- 
stand his hints, and he had made up his. mind that a stranger's 
opinion would be more readily believed. 

I looked at Jem in speechless consternation. I was too 
much stunned to sa]^ a word. Our poor, pretty Kitty! No, 
it was impossible to credit it. 

^ Olga, you and I must be strong for Hubert's sake. Poor 
old man! he will need all the help we can give him. We 
must not think of ourselves.' 

'No, Jem;' then, almost in a whisper, 'Where is he — Hu- 
bert, I mean?' 

' He is with Kitty. Nurse has come down and left them 
together. She says Kitty is wonderfully calm. She asked 
Dr. Rupert herself how long she was likely to live, as though 
she were quite aware of her condition; and now she is only 
thinking of Hubert.' 


384 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL L YNDHERSTl 

^Oh, if I had only been. kinder to her! If I had not made 
so much of all her little faults! ^ Alas! why — why is this our 
first speech when those we love are threatened with death? 
And again those tenderly reproachful words of Amiel seemed 
to sweep over my soul: ‘Life is short, and we have never too 
much time for gladdening the hearts pf those who are travel- 
ling the same dark journey with us. Oh, be swift to love! 
Make haste to be kind!’. I hid* my face in my hands, and 
wept bitterly. 

lem was very patient with me, though he needed comfort 
himself. He stroked my hair, and said, ‘Poor little thing!’ 
once or twice. 

‘You were upset yesterday with all that terrible business,’ 
he said presently. ‘And you are not fit for another blow; 
and this comes so near; home, too. I don’t feel as though I 
could talk about it much,’ in rather a choky voice; ‘I must 
keep myself for Hubert. Xurse has gone out to see her sister, 
who is ill, and the poor children are waiting for their tea. I 
vote we go and give it them, Olga; that will be better than 
jcrying your eyes out;’ and though Jem’s consolation was a 
little too bracing for the tender state of my spirits, a sense of 
duty made me bathe my eyes and go into the school room. 

The children were all huddled round the fire. . Hugh had 
little Flo on his knee, and Mab was telling them a ; story. 
Wilfred clapped his hands gleefully when he saw us. 

‘There is plum-cake for tea, and we are all so drefferiy 
hungry/ he said. ‘Nurse said we must wait for you; and we 
thought you were never coming — didn’t we, Mab ? Are you 
going to have tea with us too, Uncle Jem ?’ 

‘ Why, you don’t want to. eat up the plum cake all by your- 
self, do you, Willie ? Hugh, old fellow, hand me the matches; 
we must throw a light on the subject. Now then, the kettle is 
boiling, Olga, so set to work, or these young folk will eat me.’ 

Only Jessie and Wilfred laughed at this feeble little joke. 

Mab was looking at me anxiously, and Hugh whisper^^d 

‘ What does the new doctor say about mother, auntie ?’ 

Luckily, Jem heard the whisper, and came to my help. 

‘ Don’t tease Aunt Olga with questions, children; she has 
got a headache. You have a headache have you not ? ’ look- 
ing at me rather doubtfully. How convenient these ailments 
are sometimes! 

I wondered how Jem could talk in that easy fashion, cut- 
ting great slices of bread and cake all the time, and helping 
Fio with her bib; but I noticed he could not eat himself, and 
not even the thinnest, crispest slice of toast could tempt him. 


^^TROUBLES SELDOM COME SIEGLY/ B85 

^Give me some mo‘»’e tea; that is all I want/ he obi^'rved, 
as I looked at him. 

It was quite late in the eyening before I saw Kitty. Jem 
and I had made a pretence of dining together. Hubert could 
jiot' be induced to leave his study, so Jem made me cut a 
sandwich, and took it in to him. 

‘ I do believe dogs know everything that is going on,^ he 
said, as he sat down again. ‘ Would you believe it, Rollo is 
in there with Hubert. I never remember hiih in the study 
before. He is lying on the rug .quite close to his chair, and 1 
could not coax him away; he just looked at me, and then 
wagged his tail. Olga, Hollo knows poor old Hubert is in 
trouble.^ 

‘ Do you think I may go to him ? ^ — rather doubtfully. 

‘ No, he is much better alone; you could not do him any 
good. If I were in his case, I would not have a creature near 
me, except Hollo. Yes, I think I would have Hollo.^ 

I did not ask Jem^s leave to go up to Kitty; she would be 
expecting me I knew. Nurse was just leaving the room. 
Kitty was lying quietly on her pillows; she held out her arms 
to me without a word, and for a little while we held each other 
fast. 

^I have known it* all along, Olga,^ she whispered at last. 
^ Ever since I took that chill I felt how it must end. I did 
not tell my thoughts even to Hubert; he would k;now soon 
enough— that was what I said to myself — and so I got through 
my bad times alone.' 

Dear Kitty — dear, brave little Kitty ! — and we had no idea 
of this! 

^ It was very sad at first. I used to lie awake in the night 
and think of Hubert and the children, and what they v/ould 
do without me. I used to feel so wicked sometimes, as though 
I could not die, and go away from them all. And then I 
longed to wake Hubert, and ask him to talk to me; but I am 
glad now I let him sleep; he will have time enough to fret!' 

‘ But he might have helped you. I cannot bear to think of 
your going through these dreary times alone.' 

‘ Dear, we must die alone ! Hubert cannot help me then ; 
but, after all, I was net left long in the darkness. 1 feel better 
about things now, and so I was able to comfort Hubert a 
little, though it nearly broke my heart to see him so un- 
happy.' 

‘ It has come upon him so suddenly.' 

* Yes, he has been blinding himself. He tells me now that 
be fought down his fears, and would not face them. That 
25 


38 6 THE SEARCH FOR BAm. LYNBHURST: 


has been a great mistake. Olga, they do not think I shall 
Buffer much; that is a blessing, is it not ? for I am so worn 
and weak. I feel as though I could not bear much more.^ 

• please do not talk so! ' I returned piteously. 

'It is such a relief to talk/ -she answered, with a sigh; 'but 
I do not want to distress you. There is so much I want to 
say to you about the children, but I am too tired now. Here 
is nurse coming back, so perhaps you. had better, say good- 
night." 

I crept away to my room. .Nurse had again lighted my fire, 
and as I sat shivering over it,' too wretched and oppressed for 
any more tears, a dull, heavy weight seemed settling on my 
heart. Who has not known these hours, these languors, these 
terrors, when the hand of our God lies heavy upon us, and 
when in all the world there seems no light for us? The 
shadow of death hovered over Fircroft. The tender-hearted 
wife and mother was fading out of life; and Hubert — poor 
Hubert!— would have no one to help him but an inexperienced 
girl; no wonder my heart fainted within me, as I thought of 
the future. 

It was long after midnight before Hubert came up to. bed. 
Jem was with him. I heard them exchange a whispered 
word as they passed my door. It was no use stupefying my- 
self any longer with these miserable thoughts. I went to bed 
too, and dreamt that I was playing with Eeggie in the garden 
of La Maisonnette. 

I resolved^ to keep this fresh trouble from Aunt Catherine 
until the funeral was over. I said very little in my note. 
Perhaps she had forgotten that we had made that appoint- 
ment with Dr. Eupert; she certainly asked no questions. I 
told her Kitty seemed weaker, and that was all. I did not 
go up to the Hall. Mr. Fleming and Mr. Barton were there, 
and I should only have felt myself in the way. I devoted 
myself to Kitty and the children, and tried to do little things 
■for Hubert. It is strange how a great trouble seems to trans- 
form people. The change in Hubert was singular. All his 
fussiness and pomposity had vanished; lie was very gentle 
with us all, and seemed very grateful for any little attention; 
but how gray and old he looked — our poor Hubert! He v/as 
never willingly away from Kitty ; he would allow no one else 
to lift her from the bed to the couch. It Was touching to see 
how he watched and waited on her; and Kitty loved to have 
him with her. We used to leave them together as much as 
possible. I often found them talking earnestly; sometimes 
he would be reading to her.. 


'TE0UBLM8 SELDOM COME SINGLY: 


387 


Hubert could not bring himself to go to the funeral. Jem 
went in his place, but he told me very little about it, except 
that Mr. Fleming had read the service beautifully, and that 
the churchyard was full of people. Keggie spent the day with 
us, and showed me his black suit with an air of dignity. 

^Mother is dead, my Dear,^ he said rather pompously; ^but 
father did not cry. The angel what tooked her had big white 
wings, father said so;^ and I heard him repeating this to 
Girlie-ga in the nursery. 

I was with the children most of the day, and tried not to 
think of all that was passing at the Hall : by-and-by I would 
visit Aline’s grave, and lay some flowers on it.* 

The following evening was Christmas Eve. I had just 
given the children their tea, and Hubert, as usual, was sitting 
with Kitty, when Jane told me Miss Sefton was in the draw- 
ing-room, and I went down to her at once. The lamp had 
not been lighted^ but the ruddy glow of the firelight gave us 
light enough. 

^ This is kind ! ^ I exclaimed, as I threw my arms round her; 
‘ dear Aun.t Catherine ! I never thought of your coming to me 
so soon.^ 

^ I wanted to see you for several reasons. You are looking 
pale, my child. You must not take our troubles too much to 
heart. Oh, Olga, Mr. Fleming has been such a comfort to us I 
he has done Basil so much good.^ 

‘ Is he still with you ? ^ 

^JSTo; he was obliged to leave us last night. He could not 
possibly be spared an hour longer. But he was with us for 
two days.^ 

^And poor Mr. Barton ? ^ 

^ Oh, he is at the Hall still. He has promised to remain 
until Tuesday, and then he and Basil go up to town together. 
Basil goes on to Leeds; he has consented to spend two or 
three weeks with Mr. Fleming. We all think the change will 
do him good.^ 

^ Will he take Reggie ? ^ 

^ Ko, he dare not — Leeds is so cold. He will be better with 
us. Basil feels himself that he must get away for a little; all 
this trouble has unhinged him terribly. He looks quite ill. 
poor fellow!^ 

‘ I do not wonder at iV iu a low voice; ^but I am glad he 
is going to Mr. Fleming.’ 

'So am I; no one understands him so well. Ana, Olga, I 
must tell you, Basil has been so good to Mr. Barton; he has 
consulted him about everything, and has treated him with so 


888 THE BE ARCH FOR BABIL LYNDHURBT. 


much kindness and consideration. Mr. Barton told me so 
himself.’ 

‘ It must have been very trying for him to come to the Hall 
under such circumstances.^ 

^ Yes; but he would not hare stayed away for worlds. lie 
wanted to see his* Allie’s home; as he said. He used to go 
into the Lady’s Eoom and look at her things; he even fingered 
the dresses she wore; and he took such pleasure in seeing the 
flowers people sent. He noticed your wreath at once. Poor 
Mr. Barton! I think we all like him; he is so simple, so faith- 
ful. I suppose J em told you how terribly upset he was at the 
funeral ? ’ 

^No; Jem never likes talking of such things.’ 

^He sobbed dreadfully. It went to one’s heart to hear him; 
but when we got to the grave Basil put his hand on his 
shoulder and made him stand by him. You have the best 
right, George/’ I heard him say, for I was behind them both. 
Mr. Barton says he wi’l never forget that as long as he lives. 
I do believe he is fond of Basil.’ I was thankful to hear these 
little details. It was dear and good of Aunt Catherine to tell 
me all this. 

^And, Olga, there is another thing. Basil was speaking to 
me this morning. He wants you to choose something of 
Aline’s to wear in memory ot her; he thinks you would like 
it. It must be something she has used — a ring, or some orna- 
ment; but he wishes you to choose.’ 

^ He is very kind,’ the tears coming to my eyes, ' but I shall 
not need any remembrance of Aline; you do not know how I 
miss her. Aunt Catherine. In her own way she was so good 
to me.’ 

^ She v/as very fond of you. Basil said he saw that from 
the first. Would you rather that I chose for you, Olga? 
There’s a pretty ring Wxiih pink coral and diamonds, that 
Basil bought her that day he first went up to town. She 
always wore it, and it was on her finger to the last.’ 

^ Oh, not that one,’ flushing painfully; ‘ Mr. Basil would 
not like it Something far less handsome.’ 

^V/ell, well; Basil shall decide. But it is a nice thought — 
he is so grateful to you for all you have done. Why, wha^ is 
the matter, Olga?’ for I found it impossible to restrain iny 
tears. 

' ^ Do aot let us talk about rings any longer,’ I said, fol I 

wanted to change the subject dreadfully; ‘we are all so un- 
happy, and I have wanted you so;’ and then I poured out my 
troubles. 


'TROUBLED SELDOM COME SINGLY: 


389 


Aunt Catherine did hot seem in the least surprised, but she 
was very much grieved .for us all, and ‘ said everything she 
could to comfort me. She would not let me dwell on the 
future. ' At such times one can only live day by day,^ she ob- 
served very sensibly; ^ we must not overstrain the mind by 
looking forward too mpch. Strength for the day — the hour 
— that is all we need ! ^ 

She stayed with me until Jem came to summon me to din- 
ner. We were both surprised at the lateness of the hour. 

‘ You have done me so much good,^ I whispered, as I kissed 
her; and she smiled, well pleased at that. 

It was the saddest Christmas Day I had ever passed; and 
though Jem and I did our best for the poor children, and had 
little gifts ready for each of them, they all complained- how 
dull it was with mother upstairs. I could only attend the 
morning service. Mr. Basil was in his usual place, and Mr. 
Barton was beside him, but after the first glance I dare not 
look in that direction again. 

My thoughts were heavy enough, and it was difficult to 
join in the glorious chants and hymns, all breathing the joy- 
giving message of peace and universal gladness. 

I glanced at Hubert; his grave, abstracted face told me 
where his thoughts were straying; but he went through the 
service manfully, and preached better than I had ever heard 
him. 

Later in the day, as I v/as sitting in Kitty’s room,* a small 
packet was brought me; and on opening it I saw poor Aline’s 
pink coral and diamond jing. A little brooch, prettily set 
with pearl, in the shape of a horse-shoe, accompanied it, with 
a pencilled note from Aunt Catherine ; 

could not bear to think that my usual Christmas gift 
should be wanting, so I am sending you this brooch. You 
have often seen me pin my lace v/ith it — I think it will just 
suit you. 1 told Basil last night that you seemed reluctant 
to choose anything, and he said at once I'had better send the 
pink coral ring; but I will give you his v/ords: ^^Ask her to 
wear it always, in. remembrance of my poor Aline. I will say 
nothing of my gratitude' — it will only embarrass her; and she 
loves to do good to every one. Let it be only in memory of 
^ine.” ^ 

I thought Kitty looked at me rather curiously as she ex- 
amined the ring. 

^It is very beautiful,’ she said — ^almost too handsome for a 


890 ^THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

girl; but you have a pretty hand, Olga. Were you so fond of 
that poor thing, after all ? ^ 

‘ Yes,^ was my sole answer, as I shut up the case. 

I found my note of thanks very difficult. ^ Tell Mr. Basil 
that I shall value the gift for Aline^s sakV was all I managed 
to write; my thanks were far morp profuse for the little pearl 
brooch. 

I did not go up to the Hall until Wednesday. On. my way 
I visited Aline’s grave; it was in my favorite corner, near a 
weeping willow; the mound was covered with wreaths and 
crosses. 

Keggie was delighted to see me; he had been fretting about 
his father’s absence all the morning, but Aunt Catherine had 
promised that Wilfred should come and play with him every 
day, so he had cheered up. I had tea with her and Mrs. 
Lyndhurst, and we sat over tlie fire talking. They both, 
spoke cheerfully of Mr. Basil ; he had seemed in better spirits 
when he left, and more like himself. 

^He feels Aline’s death dreadfully,’ added Mrs. Lyndhurst.’ 
^ I think if he had loved her more, he would have suffered 
less. He is blaming himself for everything he did or left un- 
done. Mr. Barton’s ^ief is much easier to bear.’ 

^Poor Mr. Barton! it will be a dreary going home for him.’ 

^Strange to say, he talks as though she were with him still; 
it is Allie’s room, and Allie’s chair, just as though she were; 
alive. He says her things shall l)e about, as they always were 
— that he shall put nothing away. Basil has promised to go 
and see him sometimes, and he is to come here whenever he 
likes. Catherine, did you notice how he shook his head when 
Basil said that ? ’ 

^Ho; and I went out of the room almost immediately.’ 

^ Well, he turned to me and said, ^^It is very kind of your 
son, ma’am, to make me free, as it were, of Allie’s home, and 
I am mightily obliged to him for the thought; but I am 
happier in my own little place. Allie seems to belong to me 
more there — if you can follow my meaning. I remember the 
day when she was so small that she could only peep over the 
counter. ^ Lift me up, George,’ she would say, ‘ I want to 
play at shop, too;’ and she would sit there weighing out 
coffee and sugar in her doll’s scales as pretty as possible, and 
all the customers taking notice of her. Wasn’t father proud 
of her then I ” ’ 

^And he will not Come to the Hail? ’ 

^•No ; I am sure he will not. He will be far happier talking 
to Becky about his Allie. After all, Olga, this sort of grief is 


^TROUBLES SELDOM COME SINGLY: 


391 


almost akin to joy. After a time the remembrance will be 
as dear to him as Aline herself. My pity is more for my own 
poor boy.^ 

^ Mr. Fleming will do him good/ interposed Aunt Cather- 
ine hastily; and it was evident from her manner that she 
wished no niore to be said on this subject, and then they both 
talked to mo about Kitty> and Mrs. Lyndhurst promised to 
come and see her. 

^ It will be my first visit for five-and twenty years/ she said, 
with a faint smile. * But Basil says he does not like his mother 
to be such a recluse, so I shall begin with Mrs. Leigh; ^ and 
actually she came the next day, much to Kitty^s astonishment. 
But, as Aunt Catherine told me afterward, Mrs. Lyndhurst 
was an altered woman— all her unhealthy whims and fancies, 
her hypochondriac ideas, were vanishing under her son^s in- 
fiuence. 

^If Basil expresses a wish, it is enough; Virginia simply 
lives to please him. I am sure he loves her better every day,' 
she finished, with a sigh of satisfaction. 

Mr. Basil remained away three weeks, and then he only 
came home, as he said, because he could not stay away from 
Reggie anj longer. 

I saw him a few days after his return; he came to Fircroft 
to ask after Kitty. Jem was with me in the drawing-room, 
lihoughkhe looked older, and was very grave and constrained 
in his manner, and he only remained about twenty minutes. 

He said that it had been a great pleasure to him to stay 
with his old friend; the Vicarage was large and comfortable, 
and Mr. Fleming had furnished it with much taste. As hia 
second curate was only in deacon's orders, the vicar had a 
great deid to do, and he had felt it incumbent on him to act 
in some measure as a lay helper. ‘ But we had some good 
long talks in the study of an evening/ he continued; ^and if 
it had not been for the little chap I should have stayed much 
longer, for he was so pleased to have me — he said it was like 
the old times.*^ 

Jem asked a few questions about Leeds, and then he was 
called away to speak to some one on business, as Hubert wan 
out. Directly he left the room, Mr. Basil got up from bin 
chair. 

‘Must you go SO' soon?' I asked in some surprise, for I 
wanted to- hear more about the Leeds visit. 

‘ I believe I must/ he returned rather absently; and then 
he told me that they were all going to Hastings for two or 
three weeks: ‘You know my mother has never slept out of 


392 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 

the Hall for nve-and-twenty years, and I am very anxious 
there should be a departure from all her old habits. Dr. 
Langham is charmed with the idea. Aunt Catherine wanted 
to remain behind, but I would not hear of that for a moment, 
so we are a'l going; and I intend Mr. Fleming to give us a 
week by-and-by. He declares he has not been to the sea for 
eight years.^ 

Was Mr. Basil only tninking of his mother, or nad his 
trouble made him restless ? He certainly did not look well, 
and he was more nervous than I had ever seen him. Just 
before he left, I saw him glance at my right hand. T suppose 
the diamonds, small as they were, flashed in the firelight. 

‘ Dp you always wear it ? ' he asked in a very low tone. 

‘ Yes, alwavs. I have grown so fond of it; it reminds me 
of Aline.^ 

am glad of that. Do you know, she once spoKe of you’ 
to me as a little white angel. She was very fond of you — 
very. Good-by, Miss Leigh, if I do not see you again before 
we go. I am grieved to leave you in such trouble; if I thought 
you would like Aunt Catherine to remain, she should stay, 
after all.^ 

^ Oh no — no i ' quite shocked at the idea. ^ She would be so 
lonely without you all, and 1 could not be with her; when I 
am not with Kitty, the children want me; there is so much 
to do ; I could never see Aunt Catherine even if she were at 
the Hall.^ 

‘And I am keeping you now; how thoughtless of me! Do 
not let them overwork you. I am glad, you have your brother 
to look after you.^ 

‘Jem goes to Oxford on Thursday,^ I said sorrowfully, for 
the dread of it was already weighing heavily on my burthened 
spirits^ 

‘ I am sorry for that ’ — very gravely; ‘ there is no one to 
look after you, then, and you are tired, very tired, now.^ 

‘No!^ But I could not trust myself to say another word; 
the kind look and tone were too much for me. He said 
‘Good-by^ rather hastily after that, and I fancied I heard 
‘ God bless you I ^ I felt very low the remainder of the even- 
ing; every one seemed going away; and how I should miss 
Aunt Catherine ! though it was quite true what I had said, 
that I should have seen nothing of her, only when one is in 
trouble it is a comfort to feel people are near. 

Aunt Catherine came to me the next day in much distress. 

‘What am I to do, Olga she said; ‘Basil has changedvhis 
mind, and wants me to remain behind; and now Virginia 


^BE GOOD TO HUBERT: 


393 


says she cannot go without me. He is getting worried and 
wishes he had never proposed the plan. I aan sure you are 
in his mind;, and he thinks you need me.! 

I would not let Aunt Catherine see how much this, thought- 
fulness touched me; but I scouted the idea of her remaining 
with much energy : 

should be torn in halves/ I said feelingly; ‘1 should be 
always longing to get to you, and tell you my troubles, and it 
would be impossibJe.^ 

^ But I might come to you, as I do now,^ she repliea, look- 
ing at me very kindly. 

‘ No, that would not qo at alb Hubert told me yesterday 
that I must deny myself to visitors now Kitty is worse. 1 
shall not like your being so far from me; but, all the fsame, 
it will be the best for both of us.^ 

* Perhaps so^ — reluctantly — ^ and I ao not know now to refuse 
Virginia. Poor dear! she is xjuite excited about this trip. 
You must send me a few lines every day; and if you want 
me, Olga, I can conle up at a minute’s notice.’ 

So we settled it; on Thursday Jem went back to Oxford, 
and on the next day the Hall was empty. 


CHAPTER XLl. 

GOOD TO HUBERT.^ 

■* I bent to kiss her cheet 
And blessed her softly in the name of God, ^ 

And bade her go in peace. Yea, with a smile. 

Which God had given me, I loosed my hold. 

And suffered her to rise and go to Him. 

'And nowi at evening-time, wnen all the stars 
Keep watch along the battlements of heaven. 

She bendeth from the palace-walls to watch 
For my home-going step.’ 

‘ EkeTcieV and other Poems. 

Jem’s last words to me were : ^ Do your best for them all, 
and do not fret if your best is not perfect; put all your feel- 
ings in tho background.’ But I knew by the way he looked 
how sorry he was to leave me. 

Only Harry had come back; both Mr. Cunninghani and 
Mr. Campbell had left last term, and no new pupils had re- 
placed them. No one minded Harry; he was so good-natured 


894 ■ THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


and thoughtful that .he was never in the way. He was alwayi 
on the watch to do kind things for every one, and his cheery 
presence was quite a relief at meal-times. Poor little Hurd 
had gone back to school. Kitty broke down sadly when sn^ 
said good-by to him; indeed, her emotion so terrified Hubert 
that he hurried the child away. But it was a long time ^before 
he could soothe her. It seemed to us all that she grew rapidly 
worse after this. In a few days . her weakness v/as so great 
that she could not even be lifted to tho couch, and the least 
^attempt to talk brought on the terrible fits of coughing. 

I should have liked to have been more in the sick-room, 
but dared not interfere with nurse; she was so experienced 
and capable that Dr. Langham could not say enough in her 
praise. She had lived with them ever since Hugh’s birth, 
and was devoted to 'them all. Kurse and Hubert left me 
little to do, so I gave the children their lessons, wrote letters for 
Hubert, and tried to regulate 'the household, and only crept 
into Kitty’s room at odd moments, happy if nurse v/ould let 
me help her. 

I had had several talks "^T-ith Kitty before she grew worse; 
she used to tell nurse to leave her with Miss Olga for half an 
hour, and then she vrould talk to me about Hubert and the 
children. I never knew any one so thoughtful. Once she 
made mo bring her all her ornaments, and the few simple 
treasures she had accumulated in her short life, and told me 
which were for Mab and Jessie. She forgot no one. There 
were presents for the servants, for Jem, and me; even for 
Aunt Catherine, because, she said, she had been so kind to 
me. And there were little sums of money for her poor. 

^ Hubert said I might do it,’ she explained. ^ My poor little 
fortune has dwindled sadly. But Hubert wishes it to be di- 
vided among the children ; he v/ill have nothing for himself ; 
he says he wants nothing but tq lie down beside his Kitty in 
the churchyard; ’ and here a tear or tv/o stole down her face. 

Another time we had been talking about the twins, and 
she said: 

^Mab is very clever, and she will be nine next July. I 
should not have been able to teach her long. Mrs. Vereker 
was speaking to me in the autumn about that nice-looking 
woman v/ho has come to live at Ivy Cottage with her invalid 
sister. I think her name is Miss Boyle. She has been a 
governess, Mrs. Vereker says, and has lived in very good 
families; but she h as been obliged to, come home on account 
of her sister’s bad health. She will be very glad to hear of a 
morning’s engagement,’ 


GOOD TO Hubert: 


395 


^ Were you thinking of her for Mab and Jessie 

^Yes; I thought of speaking to Hubert about.it. One gets 
BO interrupted, and they ought to have regular lessons now. 
Mab is getting on so nicely with, her music and French. 
Perhaps by-and-by — in a few nionths, I mean — you will tell 
Hubert what I say. 1 cannot trouble him about' these little 
details; he seems as though he cannot take things in just 
now.’ True wifely heart, she was sparing him to the last. 

I told her very quietly that 1 would speak to him — that 
she need have no fear that anything she told me would be 
forgotten; and she looked so grateful and relieved. 

^ It is so nice to think that they will have you" for a little,’ 
she sighed. ^ It makes me more comfortable to know that.’ 

^For a little; what do you mean, Kitty ?’ 

She smiled faintly at my denseness. 

‘ Of course you will marry, Olga, and live your own life, as 
I have lived mine. Do you think I am blind to that fact ? ’ 
And then, putting up her hand to silence me as I was -about 
to contradict this, she went on feebly: ‘Dear, I would not 
have it otherwise. Do you think I could be 'so selfish as to 
want you to sacrifice yourself to my children ? Hubert will 
take care of them — only stay with them a year or two, until 
they miss me less ; will you promise me this ? ’ 

‘I will promise you far more,’ I began eagerly, for my heart 
was full to the brim just then ; but she put her wasted hand 
on my lips. 

‘ I will have no other promise. I know how generous you 
are. Dying people ought not to take undue advantage. How 
ean either of us know what circumstances may arise ? Ho, 
Olga, you must not bind yourself; let it be as I said;’ and 
then she closed her eyes wearily and I dared say no more. 

I sat by her for a long time hardly daring to breathe lest I 
should disturb her, and with my heart throbbing with min- 
gled pity and pain. Why should I not sacrifice myself ? who 
would ever want me but Harry ? and I was certainly not going 
to leave Hubert and the children for him. Would it not be 
a good useful life to care for those motherless little ones? 
would not any girl do it in my place ? and yet — such is human 
nature — I was glad, secretly glad that Kitty would not let me 
make that promise. Perhaps in her farsighted, womanly 
wisdom she understood me better than I did myself. 

Kitty often very innocently gave me pain ; only the next 
day she made m.e feel uncomfortable. 

Wo were on the same subject, Hubert and the children; 
and all at once she stopped and looked at mo very wistfully. 


; 896 " THB SEARCH FOR BASIL L YNBHUR^^ 

^ Will you try to put up with Huhort’s little ways — ^you an3^ 
Jem ? ^ she said gently. ^ I know you have often thought him 
fussy about trifles, and when he is unhappy he is apt to get 
irritable; all men are like that. I should like to feel that 
you and Jem would not mind.^ 

^ Oh,^ I burst out, for the moment forgetful of her Weak- 
ness, and how little she could hear, deserve that you should 
say this to me! I know how horrid I have been to Hubert; 

even Jem has found fault with me, and now ^ but here a 

contrite sob stopped my utterance. 

.Kitty looked frightened. She raised. herselJ, panting a 
little, to kiss me, and tell me she did not mean that. 

‘Don% dear!’ she said tenderly. ^'I never like to see yen 
fret. You are made for brightness, Olga. Do you think I 
remember all your little faults, when I have so many of my 
own ? Do you know, I wanted to ask you and Jem to forgive 
me; but I n^ver had courage to do it. I know how I have 
tried you both; and I meant, if I got well, that everything 
should be so different. But I shall never have the chance of 
doing better ’ — looking at me so sadly that I could only hide 
my face in the pillow, and tell her, in a broken voice, how 
dearly Jem and I loved her, and how we should miss her; and 
I think this was what she wanted to hear. 

^ I should like to see J em again. I did not bid him good-by 
properly,’ she said by-and-by. ^You must send for him — 
when — when I get worse. Hubert will want him:’ and she 
said this more than once. 

All this was before her weakness became so great. By- 
and-by sadder days came, when she could only whisper a few 
words to Hubert, when she lay on her pillows racked by that 
terrible cough — exhausted, but patient — her large dark eyes 
often fixed for minutes together on her husband’s face. The 
strain was telling upon Hubert, strong man as he was. He 
was becoming unfit for his work. I wrote and told Jem so; 
and in a few days there Was a letter to Hubert from one of 
Jem’s friends, a young clergyman only just in priest’s ordersw 
He was leaving his curacy, and offered his services tempora- 
rily. We urged. Hubert to close with this proposition. He 
could lodge in the village ; and he would be a nice companion 
to Harry Vivian. His name was Bernard Montague. He 
and Jem were great friends. I forget where Jem had first 
met him. He was a quiet-looking man v/ith a pleasant man- 
ner, and such a musical voice that his friends were looking 
for a minor canonry for him. He worked splendidly in the 
parish, and even offered to re.'.d Latin and Greek with Harry, 


QOOD TO HUBERT: 


397 


whose studies were being carried on somewhat fitfully. Harry 
told me he was engaged to a very nice girl living in Kensing- 
ton — a Miss Campbell. 

I gave a little start at this information, and asked rather 
anxiously if her name were Violet; but Harry did not know. 
The impudent boy must' actually have questioned Mr. Mon- 
tague on the subject; for Jie told me the next day that Violet 
was the name of the eldest sister, and that she was very nice, too. 

Mr. Montague’s fiancee was named Barbara; and she was 
very pretty, only rather like a gypsy, for he had seen her pic- 
ture; and so on. Kor Harry would try to amuse me with anv 
sort of chit-chat. 

Hubert felt Mr. Montague’s help was a great' relief. His 
bad nights were wearing him out; and yet he would not allow 
any one else to share the night-nursing with nurse. He had 
a little bed in his dressing-room; and if he heard Kitty’s 
voice, he would wake immediately; and he was the greater 
part of the day with her, too. He was wonderfully handy for 
a man, and his strong arms were always available. Ko one 
could put her in so comfortable a position, Kitty said ; and it 
was nice to feel that he was always near her night and day, 
and r^ady to read and pray with her. 

One day at the beginning of February, Kitty had had an 
unusually bad day. Dr. Langham had come three times; and 
after his last visit Hubert came into the schoolroom, where I 
was sitting with the children, and told me he had telegraphed 
for Jem. 

^ Dr. Langham says she cannot last long now,’ he said in a 
low voice, that the children might hot hear. ^ I doubt whether 
he will be in time; ’ and he walked slowly out of the room; 

I ran after him. 

^ Oh, Hubert ! ’ I implored, ^ do speak to nurse. I must be 
with you all to-night — I must indeed.’ 

^ Yes,’ he said. Poor Hubert! how haggard he looked! 
think Kitty will like to have you with her. One thing I for- 
got: she wants to see the children before they go to bed. 
Nurse shall tell you when she is ready; but she is too much 
exhausted now.’ 

It was Girlie-ga’s bedtime, and she was growing rather 
sleepy and cross. Jane undressed her; and we told her stories 
to keep her awake — at least, Mab did, for I could not utter a 
word. She sat curled up on my lap looking drowsily at the 
fire, with her tumbled curly locks shining like gold. 

When the message came I was obliged to carry her in my- 
self, for she would not let nurse touch her. 


898 ’ THE SEARCH FOR ^RASTL LYHDHURST: 


^ Girlie- ga she said crossly, in return to all her over- 

tures. 

!N’urse doted on her. Wilfred looked rather solemn as he 
“walked beside me; and the twins were hand-in-hand as usual. 
What a sight for a mother! I saw a spasm cross Kitty’s wan 
face. . ^ 

‘All but dear little Hugh,’ she whispered.. ■ ^ Give him his 
mother’s blessing, 'Hubert;’ then more faintly:. ‘Let me kiss 
my baby, Olga.’ 

‘ Girlie-ga wants to come to bed with mother,’ cried the little 
one eagerly, as she patted and stroked her mother’s face. 

Hubert signed to me to take her away; and he himself led 
the other children to the bod. Willie said nothing; but Jessie 
began to cry when she saw her mother’s altered look; and 
Mab’s features twitched ominously as’ she bade her hush. 

‘ God bless you, my darlings I ’ gasped Kitty. ‘ Mab. be good 
to your father, and help Aunt Olga, — Hubert ! ’ 

That sad, appealing tone told him she could bear no more. 
He leant over her, as though to shut out that little clinging 
group, so unutterably pathetic, from her sight.. ‘He shall 

f ather the lambs with His arms, and carry them in Hi^ 
osom,’ I heard him say, for day and night he comforted her 
sinking soul with some such cordial as this. 

I left the room wuth the children, partly to recover myself y 
and partly because Jessie was sobhing so that I could not 
leave her; she was a sensitive, tender-hearted child, and of all 
the children she most resembled her mother. Mab put her 
arm round her neck and began to cry too; and then, to my 
astonishment, Jem came out of the schoolroom and con- 
fronted us. 

‘ Jem ! Impossible ! Hubert’s telegram only went an hour 
ago.’ 

‘I did not wait for the telegram,’ he returned gravely. 
^ Vivian wrote and said they feared it might happen any time, 
so I got leave at once. Hubert must ilot be alone. Have the 
children all been in ? ’ 

‘Yes, she wished ft; but it is too much for her, Jessie, 
please, please do not cry so ! ’ " 

‘ What shall you do now ? ’ 

‘I must put the children to bed. Jane is busy. ' .Then I 
am going in again.’ 

‘I shall wait for you; don’t be longer than you can help.’ 1 
And Jem sat down by the fire gloomily. I asked if he had 
had any refreshment, but he took no notice of my question; 
SO 1 left the children, and went down to Harry, who was 


^BE GOOD TO Hubert: 


399 


Walking up and down the drawing-room rather restlessly, as 
though he did not quite know what to do with himself, and 
asked him to look after Jem, and he promised with alacrity 
to do so. Willie and Girlie-ga were soon fast asleep, but 1 
did not find it easy to leave the twins : they were both sitting 
up in bed, with their arms round each other, crying as though 
their hearts would break. 

‘Mother is going to die,^ Jessie kept saying; and Mab was 
no better. But presently they consented to lie down, on my 
promising to come to them again. 

‘ Mother wants Aunt Olga, and we mustn’t keep her,’ said 
Mab, whose quickness had grasped the situation. 

I was longing indeed to go back, and Jem followed mo 
without a word. Hubert did not seem surprised to see him. 
I think he was beyond feeling. 

^ Jem is here, love,’ he said quietly; and Kitty opened her 
eyes; a faint smile came to her lips. 

‘Dear old Jem! ’ she whispered, as he kissed her and then 
she held his hand. ‘Be good to Hubert. Look after him;’ 
and a sort of sob answered her. 

She did not take any notice of me for a long time; but by- 
and-by, when Hubert gave her a restorative — for that last 
night he would allow no one else to give her anything — I 
heard her say, ‘ Where is Olga ? ’ and then for a minute he 
did yield his place to me. 

‘ Remember everything,’ she said, in a voice so low no one 
else heard her. ‘ You have been so good to me — a real sister! 
God reward you for it;’ and she signed to me to kiss her. 

I think I was going to say something to her, to ask her 
again to forgive me. — for even in the presence of the dying 
we think of ourselves — but Jem drew me away. 

‘That is Hubert’s place/ he said in my ear; ‘we must not 
be in his way.’ 

But I suppose he felt how I trembled, for he kept his arm 
round me, and that comforted me a little. I do not know 
how the time passed. Now and then Hubert said a prayer, 
or a text or two;, but there were few words spoken. Nurse 
moved quietly about the room. Once Hubert bade her light 
some more candles. Kitty had murmured something about 
darkness. Later on she called him feebly. 

‘ I am here, love, close beside you.’ 

‘Yes, I know; but I am going now, darling — dear, dearest 
husband I ’ 

She turned her face to him, but as he stooped over her, in 
his love and anguish, she gasped ; ‘ Pray ! pray ! ’ 


400 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST, 


I Eaw liim move his lips in answer, but no sound came from 
them. A broken voice near me responded: ‘Yea, though I 
walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear 
no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they 
comfort me.^ 

It was J em ! 

I do not know how I got out of the room. I think nurse 
begged me to go; but I found myself sitting by the gray ashes 
of the schoolroom fire. The lamp had long ago burnt out, 
but some one had left a guttering kitchen candle on the table. 
I never felt anything like the chill of that February morning. 
I could hear my teeth chattering from inward and outward 
cold. 

My ov/n loneliness appalled me. Jem was with Hubert. 
Kurse and Jane were busy in. that room — another shiver at 
that thought. The children — poor little creatures ! — were all 
asleep. And 1 — I had no one but my faithful Eollo, who was 
sitting at my feet, every now and then uttering a low whine 
of sympathy, or trying to lick my face. 

Tha first gleam of comfort came when cook entered with 
her apron full of wood and paper, and proceeded to light the 
fire. As I crept nearer to the blaze, and stretched my numb 
hands over it, I felt somewhat revived. 

‘You do look mortar bad, to be sure. Miss Olga! ’ observed 
cook, 'with the frankness peculiar to her class. ‘ Mr. Vivian 
asked me just now'to make you a cup , of tea, and I will bring 
it you in a moment; it is . close upon four o’clock, and Mr. 
Jem has only just got master out of that room.’ 

I made no answer; but when she brought me the tea I drank 
it. I had never before felt that peculiar craving for warmth 
that I felt then. It seemed so strange to be satisfying one’s 
physical needs at such a time ; but if cook had been an angel 
cf light, I could not have blessed her more than I did for 
lighting that fire. I found afterward that Harry had told 
her to do it. By-and-by Jem came in and took the chair be- 
side me. He did not speak to me, nor I to him; but I put 
my head on his shoulder — as I had not done since .v/o were 
children together — and so we sat for a long time. 

I asked him, presently, where Hubert was. 

‘He is in there,’ he replied; and his voice sounded so tired. 
‘ Hurse has finished now. He will not hear of going to bed 
— he says he must stop there with Kitty. I don^t know how 
to manage him,’ finished Jem dejectedly; ‘I suppose v/o must 
let him do as he likes.’ 


GOOD TO HUBERT: 


r4oi 


I begged Jem to go to bed ; but he said it was not worth 
while,' it was past five ; but he thought he would lie down for 
a little, and made mo promise to do the same. I did not 
want to leave the fire, but Jem^s stronger will prevailed as 
usual. As I crept under my eider-down quilt, I told myself 
that it would be impossible to sleep; and then I knew no 
more until some one touched me, and I saW nurse^s kind, 
motherly face bending over me. 

^ You have had a fine sleep. Miss Olga dear,^ she said. ‘It 
lis close upon ten o^clock, and I have brought you your break- 
I fast. Mr. Jem and Mr. Vivian had theirs with the children.’ 

‘And my poor brother _ 

^ ‘ Oh, master has just fallen asleep by the study fire, and 
Mr. Jem says no one must wake him. No one could be more 
considerate than Mr. Jem is, for all he is so young. He has 
been telling the children — ^pnor Miss J essio is making herself 
quite sick with crying for her mamma — but he has been talk- 
ing to her so nicely. Now you will get up as soon as you 
have had your breakfast, won’t you. Miss Olga ? for you and 
me have a deal to consult about.’ And of course I understood 
her meaning. Oh, these miserable formalities and conven- 
itionalities that tread on the heel of affliction ! 

I stole into the room to see Kitty before I went to the 
children. It was only just five weeks since I stood beside 
Aline. How different our dear Kitty looked from Aline’s 
grand, marble-like beauty, that had resembled sleep more 
than death! but Kitty’s worn, thin little face looked very 
sweet — indeed, she looked almost like a child. Flowers had 
come down from the Hall already — beautiful hot-house flowera 
lay on the quilt; some lilies of the valley — ^her favorite flowers 
— ^lay in the white fingers. I dare not stay there long. I 
knelt down and said a prayer for Hubert, and then I went 
into the schoolroom. Jessie and Mab were in the big arm- 
chair, and Willie was turning over a picture-book with Girlie^ 
ga on the rug. The poor little girls clung to me, and Mab’a 
first piteous words were for her father. 

‘ Mayn’t we see father, auntie ? ’ 

I stayed v.dth them a little while, and then went in search 
of nurse. I was very ignorant and helpless, but nurse was 
full of resources. We arranged, at last, that she should buy 
the materials for the children’s frocks,* and that she would 
send the dressmaker to take my order. 

‘You need not trouble. Miss Olga,’ she said soothingly. 
‘ Miss Nicholls and I will manage things ; and Jane will give 
us a helping hand.’ And then I went down to tho drawing- 
26 ^ 


402 THE BE ARCH FOR BABIL LYEDHURBT, 


room and wrote to Aunt Catherine.; and by-and-by Jem came 
to me. 

I did not see Hubert until late in the afternoon ; and then 
Jem sent me. 

^ You bad better get it over/ be said. ^ You ne^d not sry 
much to him — no one can do him good, poor old fellow ! ’ 

Poor Hubert I It nearly broke my heart to see him sitting 
there with his face hidden in his hands, and his great Bible 
beside him. When he raised his head, and 1 saw how white 
and sad his face looked, I could only put my arms round his 
neck, and kiss him again and again. 

^ Ti^ank you,^ he said very quietly, far more quietly than I 
expected. ‘ You and Jem are very good! How — how* are the 
children ? ^ 

Very unhappy, poor little darlings ! Hah wants to see you.^ 

He rose from his chair, and walked a few steps rather feebly, 
and then *^ t down again. 

^ Hot to-day. Give my love to them. Ask them to pray 
for their poor father. I am too weak to see them to-day. I 
must be alone with God and my Kitty.^ 

What could I say ? I only kissed him again, and went back 
to Jem; but I could hardly tell him what had passed for my 
tears. . ^ 

^ We must leave him in quiet to-day/ returned Jem. ^ It is 
not only grief: his bad nights have worn him out; he is as 
weak as a child. Dr. Langham says we must feed him up, 
and give him plenty of good, strong beef-tea, or he will not 
be fit for his work for a long time. Montague came up, hop- 
ing to see him, but we were obliged to refuse him. I have 
had to ask him a few necessary questions, that is all.’ 

Hubert saw the children the next day. Willie and Girlic- 
ga went to him before ho was up, and he sent for the twins 
later. Jem told me that he found them sitting in the study. 
Mab was standing with her arm round her father’s neck, and 
Jessie was on the stool at his feet. They did not seem to be 
talking, but they all looked quiet and composed. In the 
evening poor little Hugli arrived, and Hubert rang his bell 
and desired that he should come to him at once. Ho one saw 
that meeting, but they were a long time together, and though 
the poor boy’s eyes were red with crying when he came out, 
he only said, ‘ Father had talked so beautifully to him.’ 

I narrated all those particulars to Aunt Catherine; I knew 
how she would love to hear them. -She wrote the. dearest 
letters in return. She and Mr. Basil wanted to come up for 
the funeral, but Jem begged them to do no such thing; ha 


^BE GOOD TO HUBERT,'^ 


403 


said Hubert would not hear of it; that he was sure of their 
sympathy without that; that his Kitty needed nothirg more 
from any one. 

Aunt Catherine wrote again the next day. She said that 
for BasiFs sake she was much relieved; he was just recovering 
his spirits a little, and that it would be exceedingly painful 
for him to enter that churchyard again so soon, under such 
circumstances; that her sister had caught cold, and was not 
as well as usual; and as Marsden was away for .a fortnight’s 
holiday, she was much tied on the invalid and Keggie’s ac- 
count. But, all the same, she would have come if I had ex-f 
pressed a wish to see her. 

But her kindness did not stop here; lovely flowers came 
every day from the Hall, until dear Kitty’s room looked like 
a bower; and on the morning of the funeral three superb 
wreaths arrived from Hastings, one of them from Mr. Basil. 

We all followed Kitty to her resting-place, with the excep- 
tion of our little Flo. Willie held my hand, and Hugh walked 
beside Hubert. Jem had the little girls. 

I had a vague idea that the church and churchyard werei 
crowded — that we walked between rows of sympathizing faces. 
Harry told me afterward that every one, even the poorest, had 
a black ribbon or a little bit of crape. They sang Kitty’s 
favorite hymn— the one she loved most to hear — ^For all the 
saints who from their labor rest.’ The words seemed to calm 
our grief : 

‘ The golden evening brightens in the west 
Soon, soon to faithlul warrioi's comes their rest; 

Sweet is the calm of paradise the blest.’ 

Poor, weary little warrior! for her the rest had come none 
too soon. No more would Kitty’s failing strength try to per- 
form the tasks she felt so hard; no more would infirmities 
vex her and jar on tier loving nature. The weary, sorely^ tried 
wife and mother had gone home. ^And I must live without 
her,’ were Hubert’s first words as he entered his desolate 
home. 

‘Father, you have us,’ whispered Mab, who heard this; and 
she took his hand and kissed it; 

Hubert caught her in his arms and burst into tears. He 
had not shed a tear before, Jem told me. We left him with 
all the children round him. Jem drew me away and shut the 
door. ‘Leave them together, Olga; Kitty’s children will be 
his best comforters.’ 

And I believe Jem wc^ right. 


404 THB BEAliCH BOli BASIL LYNBHURST. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

COOK SPOILS THE FISH. 

^From an old English parsonage down by the sea' 

There came in the, twilight this message to me ; 

Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven, 

Hath, as it seems to me, teaching for heaven, 

And on through the hours the quaint words ring. 

Like a low inspiration, “ Doe the nexte thynge.” ' 

Anon^ 

The Dean of Exeter was a friend of Huberts, and Jeift 
found no difficulty in procuring extension of leave. He re- 
mained with us about ten days, and when he left he cheered 
me, as well as himself, with the thought that the Easter Va- 
cation would bring him back in les' than five weeks. We both 
of us thought that Aunt Catherine would come home long be- 
fore that. But we were wrong; the octave of Easter was over 
before the Hall party returned.. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst was the cause of the delay. Her cold had 
proved serious — it had turned to pleurisy; and Marsden^s 
holiday had ended abruptly. 

Happily, they were established in most comfortable lodg- 
ings in Cavendish Square; in fact, they were in possession of 
the whole house; so ^rs. Lyndhurst did not miss her home- 
comforts. There was an excellent doctor; the mistress of the 
house was kind and considerate ; and, except during the first 
few days of the illness. Aunt Catherine did npt seem either 
worried or anxious. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst threw ofi the attack fairly well, but she 
continued weak for some time; and until she regained her 
strength it was not possible for them to return to the Hall. 

Aunt Catherine’s letters grew more and more cheerful. 
‘ His mother’s illness has done Basil a world of good,^ she 
wrote. ^ His own trouble was drawing them very closely to- 
gether; but now his anxiety for her has broken down the last 
barrier. He is no longer reserved with her; he talks to her 
as freely as he does to me; and there is no word to express 
Virginia’s happiness. Marsden declares she gets younger 
every day. She spoils Regde dreadfully. Whenever We re- 
fuse him anything, the little rogue says, will go and ask 


COOK SPOILS THE FISH, 


405 


Gran.” He has broken himself of his baby way of saying 
Reggie will do this and that. He says he is a big boy now.' 
One thing he never, forgets — my Dear.” I hope yojL will not 
lose that name, Olga; it is so petty and quaint.^ 

I used to sigh as I put away these letters. How quietly 
happy they all seemed ! Presently I heard Mr. Fleming had 
joined them for five days — that was just before Holy Week. 
Aunt Catherine did not write until he had gone back to Leeds. 
She said very little about his visit, except that Basil and he 
had taken long walks together, and that he looked very well. 
She talked more about me and my concerns, and was full of 
inquiries about Hubert and the children. 

When I look back on those weeks that followed dear Kitty’s 
death, I seem only to remember the dull weight with which 
'I woke, day after day, as though the sense of responsibility 
never left me even in my sleep. Ho wonder I grew thin and 
tired! and, oh! how I wanted Jem and Aunt Catherine! 

I tried not to fret at the loss of Kitty, but I missed her 
more every day. I had no idea how much I had loved her 
Until I lost her daily comprnionship; and if I felt this, what 
must Hubert’s grief have been ? The sight of his sad, patient 
face, day after day, was the worst part of my trouble. 

If I could only have lightened it a little. Bat a great sor- 
row is always environed with loneliness; human sympathy 
is sweet, but it has its limits. None of us could help Hu- 
bert. 

Jem and Mr. Montague had begged him to go away for a 
change, and Mr. Basil had written in Aunt Catherine’s name, 
imploring him to be their guest. His mother was ill; but 
there were rooms to spare in the house. He should have a 
sitting-room to himself. The sea-air would do him good; 
and he could bring Wilfred as a play-fellow for Reggie. It 
was a kind thought, and Jem and I urged him to go; but 
Hubert would not hear of it. 

‘I am well enough,’ he eaid, with a dreary smile; ‘nothing 
ails me. It is better to stay and do my work. Things are 
bad enough, God knows! but coming home again and not 
finding her here would be worse; ’ and then Jem said reluct- 
antly that we must leave him alone. 

It was dreadful to see him trying to take up his life again, and 
doing everything from a sheer sense of duty. Mr. Montague 
spared him as much as possible; but after the first fortnight 
Hubert resumed his old duties, going about the parish, reading 
with Harry, and preparing his sermons. I used to think he 
had never preached so well. 


406 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 


But the Btrain of the day’s work* told on him, and in the 
evening he was fit for nothing but to sit quietly in his study. 

Harry and I often spent the evening together I do not 
think it ever entered Hubert’s head that such a state of things 
might be awkward ; Harry was so. fi^uch one of ourselves, and 
Hubert looked on him as a boy. I did the best I could under 
the circumstance. I made Harry read to me while I worked, 
and I encouraged him to go out as much as possible by repre- 
senting that Mr. Montague must be dull alone in his lodgings. 
When Harry took this hint, I used to carry my work into the 
study, and sit there until bedtime. 

I have no idea if my presence were a comfort to Hubert; he 
seldom talked to me — never about Kitty — his wound was too 
recent and too deep for words. But when I bade him good- 
night, he always thanked me; so I suppose the intention 
pleased him. 

During the day the twins followed him about. Mab usea 
to dust and arrange his papers, and Jessie kept his flower- vases 
filled. He could talk better to them. Once, when I wanted 
to ask him a question, I found him sitting in the twilight 
with the little girls one on each side of him. Jessie’s cheek 
was pressed against her father’s, and Mab’s head was on his 
shoulder. 

^ Mother was very fond of you, father dear,’ I heard Mab say; 
^she wouldn’t like to see you cry — would she, Jessie ? ’ 

Hubert started a little when ne saw me. 

am- so sorry to interrupt you,’ I faltered; ^but Mr. Greg- 
son has called with his bill, and he said he must be paid,’ and 
so on, and so on. 

Hubert listened to me very patiently, and gave me the 
money. He was wonderfully gentle, and tried hard not to 
let me see how my inexperience troubled him after Kitty’s 
wise management. Sometimes he would tell me wearily to 
ask nurse. 

^ I am afraid I don’t know about things as I ought,’ he said 
once; ^ my darling did everything herself. She would never 
let me be troubled — that is how she tired herself out — but 
nothing ever went wrong.’ 

I am ashamed to say how I cried over this little speech, and 
yet it was so natural for Hubert to say it. I pitied him so for 
having no one but a girl to help him> and yet Kitty had been 
young once ! 

Kurse found me sobbing like a baby, and comforted me as 
she would have comforted Willie or Girlie-ga. She even gave 
me a motherly kiss as I put my head on her shoulder. 


I €00K SPOILS THE FISH 


407 


^Yon ttinst not fret. Miss Olga, dear; iretting never lielped 
any one. You are doing as nicely as possible, and it stands 
to reason you cannot be as experienced as the mistress — bless 
her! — ^for she had been learning master’s ways nigh upon 
thrcteen years. She was only a young thing when her first 
baby was born — the one before Master Hugh — and she had a 
deal .to learn, both she and master. She has often laughed 
about the mistakes they made the first year they were married.’ 

Kurse was always a comfortable person. She had plenty 
of common-sense, and knew exactly what to say. Jem and I 
^s«d to laugh at her sometimes because her panacea for every 
ailment, mental or bodily, was a cup of tea. She coaxed me 
into the nursery on the present occasion, and produced the 
inevitable little black teapot, and really, after a ciip of tea 
find a little more talk, I felt quite cheered. 

There is generally a difficult person in every household, and 
ours was cook. She was simply aggravating at times. Cook 
was really a very capable servant; she was a respectable 
woman, and had known better days. So had nurse; but un- 
happily cook had a temper, and a very curious one in the 
bargain. If an order coincided with her private opinion, it 
would be carried out to the letter; if, on the contrary, it dis- 
agreed with her, as she phrased it, it was simply nesrlected, 
or else done as badly as possibly. 

Kitty knew this peculiarity, and humored her by pretend- 
ing to consult her on the daily bill of fare, and cook fell inta 
the trap. I never heard of any contretemps except once when' 
cook declared peas were not in season, and when Kitty proved 
her wrong by showing her a basket of early young peas fro'n 
the Hall garden. Cook revenged herself by boiling thenv 
until they came to the table, more like green-pea soup than 
laiything else. Hubert was so disappointed, for they were 
his favorite vegetable, that Kitty, who also had a temper, 
down and gave her warning on the spot; but they made it up 
afterward, and cook remained in triumph. 

^ I am not denying. Miss Olga,’ nurse said as she made the 
tea, ^ that cook is one of the most aggravating women I kiiaw. 
But, bless you ! many people have tempers that want humor- 
ing. If you or ’y know how to take her, she wiU go on a§ 
quiet as a lamb.’ 

^But she spoiled the fish,’ I returned dolefully, "and my 
brother had no luncheon ’ — for it was Friday in Lent, and 
Hubert never ate meat on that day; "and it is cruel, wicked 
on cook’s part to be in her airs and spoil the one thing he can 
pat; he had nothing but potatoes and bread: but ho did not 


i08 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYITDHURST, 


care about the pudding. It makes me wretched to think 
what Kitty would say to us if she saw him so neglected. 
And she has cooked all the fish, and there will be nothing but 
eggs for his dinner.^ 

‘ We’l, if I were you, Miss Olga, I would just leave things 
alone for the day. Master shan^t suffer, for I will beat him 
up some eggs and sherry before ne goes to bed, and he won’t 
starve in one day. Cook is in her tantrums because Eliza is 
out, and scolding would only make her worse.^ 

Eliza was the girl who helped Jane. She assisted in the 
housework and waiting at table. A boy came in to clean the 
Iknives and boots and fill the coal-scuttles. When the three 
pupils were here the servants had a great deal to do. Cook 
cleaned the gentlemen’s study, but there w’as Hubert’s study 
and the dining-room, and drawing-room, and the school-room, 
for nurse kept entirely to the nursery. The nursery was very 
little used now; only nurse worked there. Fircroft was a 
large house, so no wonder Kitty and I found enough to do in 
supplementing the servants’ work. 

I took nurse’s advice, and I am very glad I did so, for even 
ceak’s temper had not been proof against the account that 
Jane carried down of master’s lunching on pbtatoes and bread. 
I never knew how she managed, but at dinner-time there 
were lobster cutlets — ^probably tinned — and a delicious dish 
of twice laid fish, that Hubert found very appetizing. I 
think he was as much surprised as I was when a savory omelet 
made its appearance afterward. Mr. Montague was dining 
with us, and he remarked that we had an excellent cook. 
Hubert loked at me and smiled. He had remembered my 
appeal to him to send cook a wav because I could do nothing 
with her. 

Cook behaved better after this, and I learned presently how 
to manage her. Instead of writing out the menu over night, 
according to my own ideas, I took her into counsel, and only 
suggested things. This answered admirably. I found she 
knew Hubert’s favcrite dishes better than I did, and the bill 
of fare was generally satisfactory. 

I tried hard to get into methodical ways. I rose early, and 
had the children to read with me a d repeat their texts while 
I finished dressing. When my trying interview with cook 
was over, and I had looked in at nurse and Girlie ga, 1 went 
to the schoolroom. The twins were always ready for m?. 
Willie came in later. We worked until twelve o’clock, and 
then I took them out until luncheon. After their early 
.dinner they generally worked with nurse, and went out again 


COOK SPOILS THE FISH. 


409 


with her, unless their father took them Trith him. I was 
always busy in the afternoon writing letters for Hubert, or 
doing little things for him in the parish ; or very often v/e 
had callers. Somehow I never seemed to have time to open 
a book. There was always so much work to do — little gar- 
ments to make for the cmldren; for nurse spent a great de'al 
of her time in mending for them, and Kitty^s clever fingers 
were missing. Harry seemed to think I worked too much; 
he used to beg me to put it' a vay and play chess or some game 
with him. We did not like to touch the piano until Hubert 
asked us to do so. As the next best thing, he read to me — 
in fact, I should have fared much worse but for Harry. 

When Jem came home, things were better; for he would 
threaten to lock up the workbasket in his cupboard unless I 
went out with him. 

* Bother Willie’s shirts!’ he would say; ^let him wait for 
them. It is far too fine to stay indoors. I am going over to 
Braidley for Hubert, and you and RoUo had better cone too; ’ 
and, as usual, he had his way. But I did not . get through 
half so much work when Jem was at home. 

Jem had been with us for more than a fortnight, before 
Aunt Catherine wrote to say they were really coming home 
at last. Mr. Basil had been to Leeds again, and had only just 
returned, and he seemed in a hurry to get home. It was the 
end of April, and the voung lambs were frisking about in the 
meadows round the llall, when I went across to see that 
everything was ready for the travellers. I went into every 
room. H iw fresh and bright it all looked ! The whole house 
was fragrant with hothouse flowers. There were even some 
in the Lady’s Room; Mr. Basil had not had it shut up. The 
only change was that Reggie now slept in his father’s room. 

I sat down a long time in the cushioned window-seat, look- 
ing down the still, sunny avenue. The rooks were busier 
than ever: they had evidently nursery cares on their mind. 
Their cawing seemed more jubilant than usual. 

As I sat there, I thought how Aline’s- listless figure had oc- 
cupied this very place that first morning after her arrival. I 
could even recfidl the intent look of her face as she sat watch- 
ing Reggie at his play. Poor Aline ! What a strange intimacy 
ours had been! and yet, brief as it was, I felt I should never 
forget her. Even now whole sentences came to my memory, 
little speeches she had made about herself, her husband— a 
hundred things. In spite of her defective culture, there had 
been a marked individuality about her, that impressed itself 
even on her words. She had often interested me, and had 


410 SBARCH FOR RAUL LTNDlTnRST. 

made me look at things from a new aspect. But for her in- 
herited infirmity — for the failing that had embittered her 
short life — she would have been a grand woman. 

At this point in my reflections, I was aware of a tall figure 
coming up the avenue. For the moment I thought it was 
Jem, but Jem never held his head like that, neither did he 
walk with those swift, even strides. I started- from my seat 
forgetting that I should only bring myself more in view. 
The next moment Mr. Basil looked up and saw me, and I had 
to return his bow. They were not expected for hours — what 
could have brought him there alone ? Would he not wonder 
to see me in that room ? True, Aunt Catherine had asked 
me to attend to several little things; but Mr. Basil would 
not know that. I felt vexed to be discovered in the Lady’s 
Eoom ; but there was no escape possible — the hall-door was 
open, the servants were at their dinner, and he was already 
coming upstairs. 

I stood awkwardly enough, thinking how I should excuse 
myself; but he evidently thought no excuse was necessary. 
He came in quickly, and I could see at. once how pleased he 
was to see me there. He held out both his hands, and shook 
mine warmly. I thought he looked older and somehov/ 
different, but so well and brown, though, after the first greet- 
ing, his gravity returned — ^perhaps at the sight of my black 
dress. 

‘ I could not believe my eyes,’ he said at once, ‘ when I 
looked up and saw you at that window.’ 

‘You must have been surprised,’ I returnea, color.' g. 
‘ Aunt Catherine wrote to me, and asked me to do one cr two 
things for her, so I came across early. I had finished, and was 
sitting down to rest for a minute— the surprise was quite as 
great on my sid ’ 

‘ I suppose so,’ looking a little amused at my long explana- 
tion. ^Idid not cheat myself with the delusion that you 
were there to welcome me home; but, all the same, I had no 
idea anything so pleasant was awaiting me.’ 

‘ But what madfe you come back alone ?’ 

I did not feel a bit at my ease standing there talking to 
him, with not a soul near us. I should have been far more 
friendly and unrestrained if he had come to us at Fircrof t. I 
fancied he saw my embarrassment, for he looked away from 
me as lie answered. 

‘I was in town last night; our lawyer wanted to see me 
yesterday, so I dined with him. As I had nothing particular 
to do this morning, I thought I would come on here, and 


COOK SFOIZS THJEJ FISH. 


411 


look about me before the others arrived. You cannot tell 
how glad I am to be home again, Miss Leigh! and, indeed, 
his voice said he was glad — very glad indeed. 

‘ You have been away a long time.^ 

very long time; but it has done my mother good. I 
think you will hardly know her, she looks so young and brisk. 
And Aunt Catherine is well, too/ 

^ And Reggie ? ^ 

‘ Oh ! he is growing fat ; he is not a bit like the delicate 
little chap who gave us so much trouble at St. Oroix, I must 
soon think of sending him to school — fancy Reg at Eton I ^ 
but, of course, he was joking. Then, with a complete change 
of manner : ^ I do not know what Aunt Catherine will say 
when she sees you. Miss Leigh; you have grown much thin- 
ner; ' and then he added in a low voice: suppose you have 

been taking care of everybody and neglecting yourself as 
usual.’ 

It was the old kind voice, and he was looking so attentively 
at me, as though he saw some change that grieved him. I felt 
myself blush as I answered hastily : 

^ Oh, you have never seen me in black before — black always 
makes me look so pale ! ’ 

‘ Do you think it is that ? ’ in a tone of relief. ^ ETo, I have 
never seen you in black. You were always in white at La 
Maisonnette. Do you remember that morning when you fan 
across the sands to* bring Reggie his cap ? — ^it was just by the 
washing pool— but you were not in white that morning; it 
was something gray and soft.’ 

How strange that he should remember the color of my 
dress ! But, pleasr.nt as it was, I could not stay there any 
longer talking to him. 

*Mr. Basil,’ I said rather shyly, is the children’s dinner- 
hour, and I must go; and I am just thinking that you v/ill 
be hungry after your journey — why not have luncheon v/ith 
us at Fircrof t ? ’ 

should like it, of all things!’ he returned eagerly; ^but 
I am afraid Mr. Leigh would think it an intrusion.’ 

^Oh no! Hubert sees people now, and Jem is at home, and 
there is Mr. Vivian — I am quite sure that thev will be pleased 
.to see you.’ 

^Then, in that case, I will come,’ he replied, ^and I think 
it very good of you to ask me; ’ and then we went dovm into 
the hall, and passed out into the sunshiny avenue. 

' Isn’t it a lovely old place ? ’ he said, .standing still for a 
minute^ ^ I thought so as I turned in at the gate just noWi 


412 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

Do you know, I had a regular fit of home sickness, and then: 
nothing would do but we must come home. I think I am 
cured of my love of wandering. I mean to settle down into 
a regular English squire, and dwell among my own people.^ 

^ And Eeggie is to go to Eton 

^ ^Oh yes! but we- will not talk of that now, please; the 
little chap is not going just yet.^ 

And then, becoming grave again, he asked me if the spring- 
flowers were ^growing nicely on Aline’s grave, and described 
to me the marble cross he had ordered for her. . 

^ Eitty is to have a marble cross too,’ I remarked when he 
had finished. ^Hubert takes more interest in that than any- 
thing.’ 

^How strange that he and I should be in the same cir- 
cumstances!’ he said, with a sigh; ^but our cases are dis- 
similar.’ 

And then we came to the gate of Fircroft, and found Jem 
and Hugh on t^ie look-out for me. Jem seemed much sur*- 
prised to see Mr. Basil, but he gave him a cordial welcome, 
and sent Hugh to fetch his father. I could not- wait to see 
their meeting. I ran upstairs to take off my hat, and then 
hurried to put a few finishing touches to the luncheon-table ; 
and then they all came in and took their places, all excepb 
Girlie-ga, who still dined with nurse. 

I saw Mr. Basil glance at them; the little girls looked so 
pretty in their black frocks and muslin bib-aprons. They 
always sat beside their father, and Willie by me. When Mr. 
Basil took the seat beside me, he said in a low voice : 

^ This is the first time I have been your guest. Miss Leigh; ^ 
and Jem glanced at him quickly, as though the speech reached 
him. 

It was a very quiet meal ; all our meals were quiet now — for 
no one could talk much with Hubert sitting there so sad and 
silent; but on the present occasion he exerted himelf more 
than usual; and Jem and Harry did their moSt to help him. 
Hubert dropped out of the conversation presently, and then 
Mr. Basil talked to Jem about Oxford; their talk lasted until 
luncheon was over, and then Hubert muttered some excuse, 
and went to the study, and Mr. Basil followed us into the 
drawing-room. , 

He asked Jem to go back with him to the Hall, as the 
ladies were not expected until seven, and Jem accepted the 
invitation with alacrity. He ran off to find Harry, and give 
him some message or other; and the moment Mr. Basil feund 
himself alone with me, lie took a seat near my work table— for 


COOK SPOILS THE FISH 


413 


1 had taken up some childish garment or other; I think it 
was a shirt for Willie — and said quickly :. 

^ Is that how you spend your time ? I hope Jem aoes not 
let you do too much of that/ 

I smiled at his anxious tone. 

^ Jem does his best to hinder me; but, as I tell him, some 
oile must do the work/ 

^ And there is no one but you now ? ^ 

^ Oh yes! Nurse does a great deal. You must not think 
I am overworked. There are the children's lessons in the 
morning, and ^ 

^What! you do those too ?^ with an astonished air. 

^Certainly. I teach Mab and Jessie, and Willie comes to 
me now.’ 

^ It is too much ; it is far too much/ he replied, so seriously 
that I found myself smiling at his earnestness. ^ No wonder 
you do not look like the same girl! No, and you are not the 
same ’ — rather vehemently, 

^ I feel very much the same, thanJc you,’ trying to turn his 
words into jest. 

^No; you are quite different. I do not seem to recognize 
you/ with quite a troubled air. ‘ This is not the Olga Leigh 
who ran across the sands in her white gown, whom I used to 
rhear singing in the garden of La Maisonnette; this is not 
1 Reggie’s smiling lady at all.’ 

I tried to answer lightly; but sometnmg impeded my breath",' 
He was looking at me so gently that I could not bear it. 
;A tear dropped on my work. He leant forward almost 
agitation. 

^ Oh,’ he said, ^ please do not cry ! I shall never forgive my- 
self if I have made you shed a tear in the first hour of my 
return. You look as though you have shed far too many 
already.’’ 

^ You should not talk so/ I replied, trying to check them. 
^ You speak to me so kindly, and that upsets me. It has 
been such a dreary time; and then poor Hubert !’ 

‘Ah ! he is changed ; he is terribly changed. It gave me 
quite a shock to see him. He looks like a man who has lost 
all pleasure in life. Yes, I see; he has made you all suffer/ 

‘ But he is so good I Mr. Basil, I never knew before how 
good Hubert is. He is struggling to bear this for all our 
sakes — for the children, and because he knows it is his duty.’ 

‘ I think duty is the Leighs’ watchword/ he returned, with 
a smile. 

And then Jem came in. Of course he saw at once that I 


414 TUB 8EARVH FOR BASIL LTNBHURST. 

had been crying. Not that that was an unusual proceeding on 
my part now, only he did not seem quite pleased that I should 
have given way before Mr. Basil. Happily, Mr. Basil saw his 
inquisitive glance, and answered it witn his old frankness, 

‘ You must discharge the vials of your wrath on my head, 
Leigh,’ he said. ‘ I have made your sister cry by touching on 
a painful subject.’ And then, of course, Jem thought we had 
been talking about Kitty; and his brow cleared at once. 

‘Well, you see, Fircroft is not the most cheerful abode at 
present,’ he returned gruffly. Jem was always gruff when he 
was feeling things most. ' My brother is terribly cut up; and 
the children do a good deal of fretting at times, so Olga has 
her hands full. But I will give her her due: she does her 
best. By-the-by,’ turning on me, ‘ what are you going to do 
this afternoon ? ’ 

‘ I shall finish my worK, and then * 

‘Oh, you will, will you?’ and Jem deftly snatched the 
little shirt and tucked it under his arm. ‘Well, you will not 
see this again for a good twenty-four hours, unless you are 
clever in picking locks; so, as it is a fine afternoon, I should 
recommend you to take Eollo and the twins for an airing.’ 

‘ Why not have the carriage round and take all the children 
to pick primroses in Braidley Wood?’ returned Mr. Basil 
quickly. ‘ Would that not be a happy thought, Leigh ? The 
carriage has only to go down to the station at half-past six ; ’ 
and, as J em expressed himself charmed v/ith the idea, they 
both hurried off to give the order. 

The children were in ecstasies when I told them to get 
ready; and, as the carriage was large, we took nurse too, for 
Harry had gone for a walk with Mr. Montague. I never saw 
Eollo more excited; even his long run beside the carriage had 
not sobered him in the least. He was puppy-like in his 
gambols, and indulged in such vagaries, while Mab and Jessie 
picked their primroses, that I sat down on a bank and lec- 
tured him. 

‘ Eollo,’ I said severcl}", ‘ I really must reprimand your fool- 
ish behavior. You have knocked my hat off twice by putting 
your great clumsy paws on my shoulders, and behaving like a 
ridiculous puppy instead of a sensible, middle-aged dog.’ 

Here Eollo looked foolish, and tendered me a paw, with 
his great tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

‘Don’t be hard on him, poor old chap!’ and there was Jem. 
grinning at me over the hedge, with Mr. Basil behind him. 

I was so surprised at the sudden apparition that 1 sat per- 
fectly still, which gave Eollo the opportunity of knocking my 


AN AFTERMATE. 


415 

hat off for the third time; after which he gave a rallying bark 
and darted off in search of Jem. It was Mr. Basil who 
brought me back my hat. ^ 

J We thought the walk would be pleasanter than lounging 
about the garden and stables, so we made up our minds to 
follow you. Is that Mab or Jessie laughing? How I wish 
the little chap were here! Do you know,’ planting himself 
straight before me and looking rather wicked, am glad T 
have come, after all.’ ^ 

^ Why ? — ^to help the children pick primroses ? ’ 

^ Ho; but because I have seen Reggie’s smiling lady again 
and after this speech he had the grace to take himself off. 


CHAPTER XLIIL 

AN AFTERMATH. 

i 

love thee to the level of every day's " . 

Most quiet need, by sun and candle light. 

1 love thee freely, as men strive for right; 

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. ^ 

T love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, ana with my childhood’s faith. 

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose ) 

With my lost saints — I love thee with the breatn. 

Smiles, teal’s of. all my life !— and if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death.* 

E. B. Prownincj. 

I opened my eyes the next morning with a feeling .that 
sometning pleasant had happened, or was about to happen. 
For the first time since dear Kitty’s death, I woke without 
that sense of crushing weight. A little bird was singing in 
the ivy under the window, and something like enjoyment 
was stirring at my heart, for to-day I should see Aunt Cath- 
erine and Reggie. 

I lay for a few minutes to enjoy these new sensations, in- 
stead of thinking over cook’s last transgression, or the amount 
of my weekly bills — ^the chief heads of my matutinal medita- 
tions. I thought of our afternoon in Braidley Wood. The 
children’s baskets had been filled, to overflowing before the 
carriage came round for them. Just at the last moment, Mr, 
Basil asked if there were room for him and Jem, and the 
twins begged him eagerly to ceme between them. It ended 


410 the search for basil lynbhurst . 

by Jem and Hugh going outside, and Jessie being squeezed 
in between me and nurse. Willie and Girlie-ga were on our 
laps, and I think, crowded as v/e were, we all enjoyed our 
drive home that spring evening. 

Just as we were passing the churchyard, Mab asked, with 
a quiver of her lip, if she might give some of her primroses 
to dear mother. 

Mr. Basil, who heard her, called at once to Jennings to stop, 
and Jem, who had no notion of our errand, touched his 
hat like Reynolds, as he appeared at the carriage door, which 
made Jessie giggle. But he was rather sorry for his little 
joke when Mr. Basil explained matters, and we all went into 
the churchyard very gravely; and Mr. Basil and I helped the 
children tie up their little bunches. 

* We must give Mrs. Basil Lyndhurst some, too,^ Mab whis- 
pered to me presently; and as I tied up a small bunch of 
primroses, she took hold of Mr. Basil’s hand. 

‘ This is for your grave,’ she said in her pretty way. ^ Your 
wife will like.them, will she not ? And mother has plenty. 
Aunt Olga tied up these. Look, she has put some violets 
with them — ^they smell so sweet.’ 

^Let me come too,’ exclaimed Jessie, taking his other hand; 
and th^ led him off between them, talking to him all the 
time. Jem and I waited for them. 

Aline’s grave was sweet with spring flowers. A freshly- 
made cross I had placed there yesterday lay in the middle. ^ 

Mab was still cnattaring as they returned from their little 
pilgrimage. 

‘You talk more than father,’ she was saying. • ‘Father 
hardly ever sp:aks — does he, Jessie ? — but he likes us to kiss 
him. There are so many gray hairs in his beard — ^are you 
getting gray, too, Mr. Lyndhurst ? ’ 

Jem said something under his breath, and then checked 
Mab by telling her it was very late. 

‘ I must go to the station,’ observed Mr. Basil, 

He had become very grave all at once. He bade us good- 
by rather hastily at the churchyard gate, and jumped into 
the carriage, and we followed more slowly. 

Mab and Jessie arranged the rest of the primroses in their 
father’s study, and Hugh helped them. His writing-table 
was covered with them. 

‘Look, father!’ exclaimed Mab, when they had finished; 
and Hubert took off his spectacles. 

^Are those all for me, my darling ? Are there none for 
Aunt Olga and Uncle Jem ?’ 


AS AFTERMATH 


417 


Vi.unt Olga does not want uiaem so badly as you do, ‘father, 
so we kept them for you and mother. We always went prim- 
rose-gathering for mother, because she loved them so. Do 
you remember, father ? ^ 

Remember! I saw him sit down and cover his eyes with 
his shaking hand he children did not know, and I had 
forgotten what Kitty had once told me ; that she had first 
met Hubert at a primrose-gathering, and that he had stayed 
by her all the afternoon, and had helped her fill her basket. 
I took the children away — for I saw Hubert could bear no 
more — and I told them about it softly as we sat by the nursery 
fire. 

Jessie cried, as she always di.d; but Mab’s brown eyes looked 
large and solemn. 

^ I am glad you told us that. Aunt Olga — and Hugh is glad 
too — aren^t you, Hugh ? Now we shall always put primroses 
on mother’s grave. Father told us one Sunday evening that 
mother has nicer flowers where she is; atid he says she is ever 
so much prettier. Don’t you wish we were with her. Aunt 
Olga ? v/here the flowers never fade and people never look 
sad ! Father makes me ache all over when he looks like he 
did just now. Doesn’t it make you ache, too, Hughie 

It was of all this I was thinking as I dressed myself, and it 
was no wonder that I was a little late, and kept Mab and 
Jessie waiting for their reading. We had just finished, and 
I was opening the window, when Rollo barked, and gave a 
long scratch at the door — which was an unusual proceeding 
on his part, for he was generally waiting €n the Kail-mat to 
wish me good-morning. 

Mab flew to- the door, and there was my darling Reggie 
smiling at us with a great bouquet in his hands; he darted 
into my arms, flowers and all, and gave me a good many kisses. 

* They are for you, my Dear,’ he said, with his arms tight 
round my neck. ^ Father picked them, and T was to give 
them with Reggie’s love — they are mine and father’s, that is 
what they are’ — for Reggie’s grammar was still defective." 
^Father said they vrere all mine, but he picked them every 
one.’ 

I put the nowers in w^ater, ana then gave my undivided at- 
tention to Reggie. He was prettier than ever, though he was 
very much grown, and his black suit made him look older. 
In his childish way he seemed as glad to see me as I was to 
see- him; he kept beside me, and chattered to me about his 
pony and Joe. Joe "was in disgrace because he had eaten a 
sparrow, and Reggie had put him into the corner. He stopped 
27 


418 THE /SEARCH FOR JBA/SIL LYHRHURJST. 

to breakfast, and helped to put sugar in all the cups, and 
made himself as busy as possible; and I was so happy to see 
him there amongst dl the children. 

"Well, young jackanapes,’ observed Jem, who delighted to 
tease any child, " what are you going to do after breakfast— 
learn lessons with Mab and Jessie ?’ 

"I am going to the Hall with my Dear,’ returned Reggie 
loftily. "Aunt Cathy and Gran want her, and father wants 
her, too.’ 

"Come, come, Reg, that is a little interpolation of your 
own ! ’ I said, with a conscious blush, because Jem was there 
to hear his childish nonsense. " Father never said anvthing 
of the hind ! ’ 

" Yes, he did,’ he replied, with an affronted air. " You are 
wrong, my Dear. I used to ask father at Hastings if he did 
not want to see you, and he always said yes.’ 

I thought it better to carry away my tea-caddy and hear 
no more. Cook settled the bill of fare that day, I think if 
she had proposed the most preposterous dishes — salmon at 
two shillings a pound and spring chickens — should hardly 
have noticed it; I wrote down on the slate all she told me. 
I was quite relieved at dinner-time, when I found nothing 
more extraordinary than a boiled leg of mutton and caper 
sauce had been ordered. 

In a little while Reggie and I were walking up the avenue 
hand-in-hand, but our progress was slow; every now and then 
a rabbit peeped at us between the trees or scampered off to 
its burrow, and each time Reggie would persist in standing 
still to ask me if this Mr. Bunny were related to the French 
Mrs. Bunny who lived on the common near La Maisonnette 
— ^he seemed to think all rabbits belonged to one large femily. 

" What a lot of children Mrs. Bunny has ! ’ he finished. 

I think Mr. Basil was on the look-out for us, for we found 
him at the hall-door. He said at once that he should take 
me to his mother. 

" I know you are dying to get to Aunt Catherine,’ he said, 
in rather a teasing voice; " but you must pay your respects to 
my mother first.’ 

And, as I saw no way of refusing this, I accompanied him 
to the drawing-room. I thought it best to sajr nothing about 
the flowers — ^they were intended as Reggie’s gift — ^but on our 
way I thanked him for sending Reggie. 

" Oh, I knew how you were longing to see him ! ’ he said 
kindly ; " so I thought you should have him all to yourself. 
It has done you good, I can see that.’ 


AW a:ftermath. 


419 


Mrs. Lyndhurst was sitting working by the drawing-room 
window. She embraced me warmly, and was most affectionate 
ill her manner. I thought I had never seen her look so well: 
she was less pale; her eyes had a soft, satisfied expression; 
and with her pretty morning cap just covering her gray hair 
she looked a handsome, well-preserved gentlewoman. She 
had quite lost that nervous, shrinking manner that had tried 
one so. I expressed my surprise at seeing her downstairs so 
soon; she had never before appeared until luncheon-fcime. 

^It is Basil’s tyranny,’ she said, looking at him with arch 
tenderness; ‘he rules his poor old mother with a rod of iron. 
He will have it that a change of rooms will be beneficial to 
me ; and though he has the grace to let me breakfast upstairs, 
he insisted on establishing me here directly afterward.’ 

‘ Miss Leigh thinks I am right; you agree with me, do you 
not?’ turning tome. ‘Think of the years my mother has 
spent in those two rooms. Why, she was a different creature 
at Hastings I Both her bedroom and sitting-room commanded 
a side view of the sea; and, as long as it was light, she was 
never weary of looking as it.’ 

‘ It was such a complete change,’ she said softly. ‘ Basil 
was right when he said all those years— for five-and-twenty 
years 1 looked out on that avenue, and listened to the rooks 
cawing: a turn or two in the Lady’s Walk, a drive, church, 
now and then a stroll in our own meadows~that made up my 
life. I think I was like a child — like Eeggie — when I first 
saw the sea.’ 

‘ Yes, and looking on this pleasant lawn is a change, too.’ 

And so they talked on, and every word showed me how 
wise and thoughtful Mr. Basil was for his mother’s comfort; 
if he had lived with her all his life he could not have under- 
stood better how to deal with her. 

I was fidgetting to get to Aunt Catherine. I suppose Mr. 
Basil saw this at last, for he broke off in the midst of a de- 
scription of Fairlight Glen, and said it was time^^for me to go 
to her. 

‘Yes, go, my dear; I know Catherine is expecting you,’ ob- 
served Mrs. Lyndhurst. 

And then she and Mr. Basil looked at each other, and 
smiled; but I did not understand what they meant until 
afterward. I was only too glad to be set free, and I wished 
Mr. Basil would not be so formal in his politeness, for he in- 
sisted on accompanying me to the library; and, throwing 
open the door, with great solemnity, ‘ Miss Leigh to see Miss 
Sefton,’ he said, in a sonorous voice that resembled Bennet’s, 


420 the search for basil lyndhurst. 

Dear Aunt Catherine, how I hugged her! I did not care 
if there were twenty Mr. Basils standing there, but I found 
he had speedily shut himself out, and we could hear him 
whistling for Reggie. Aunt Catherine did not speak for a 
moment; but she held my face between her hands, and looked 
at it earnestly — then she kissed me again. 

^ My poor little Olga ! ' she said, in such a pitying tone. 
‘ Yes, Basil is right : yon are dwindled somehow, and all the 
brightness is dimmed! Never mind, it will all come back; 
we h^ve only to be patient; ' and then she made me sit down, 
and still keeping my hand, began the gentle questioning that 
was needed before I could bring myself to relate the experi- 
ences of these two months. ^ Y ou had better begin from the 
firsV she said quietly; ^ I have the whole morning to deyote 
to you, and we shall not be interrupted — Basil has promised 
me that. I want to hear all that this poor tired child has had 
to bear;^ and then it all came out. 

What a relief to tell it all to that dearest friend — to dw^ll 
on every particular, every little failure, and to be sure of her 
sympathy in return; if I could not always restrain my tears. 
Aunt Catherine's eyes were not dry, either. She listened 
without interrupting me; but when she spoke her words gave 
such solid comfort. She spoke so wisely about Hubert, and 
the necessity of guarding him from any unnecessary worries. 

/People say sometimes in these cases,^ she continued, Hhat 
little things do not matter; that the greater sorrow deadens 
the* mind to lesser things; but, I assure you, this is not always 
true. It was the last straw that broke the camebs back, Olga, 
and these small worries may just make your brother’s burthen 
unendurable. Do not let him miss his wife in every detail — 
he misses her enough without that; try to help him in little 
ways, by small unobtrusive acts of kindness.. He may not 
notice them; but they will do him good, ail the same. You 
might just as v/ell say he would not miss the comfort of a fire 
on a winter’s day, because he would be just as unhappy when 
he was warm; but, all the same, the absence of a fire would 
make him more wretched. So I say to you, take care he has 
all his accustomed little comforts; keep small vexing worries 
away from him; and, when you feel able for the effort, show 
him a cheerful face — there is nothing like the sunshine of a 
smile.’ Oh, was she not a wise woman, this dear x\unt Cath- 
erine ! 

I felt ashamed of talking so much about myself at last. I 
was not afraid of taxing her patience; but I wanted to hear 
about herself. Her letters had said so little; the closely 


AIT AFTERMATH. 42l 


written pages had been about my affairs. I hinted this, and 
her expression changed. 

^Are you sure you have finished all you want to tell me, 
Olga?^ ■ 

‘ Yes — everything. At least, I have talked enough about 
myself for the present.^ 

^ The poor little self is so oyerburthened, you see. Ah, well, 
we shall have plenty of time for talk !. I want you to be with 
me as much as possible ^ — she hesitated, gaVe a nervous little 
laugh, and then said; really do not know how to begin. I 
wish you would help me.-^ And as I looked at her, astonished 
at this strpige commencement, she laughed again, and asked 
me softly if I could not guess what she had to tell me about 
herself. 


Then, in a moment without another word, it flashed across 
me what she was going to say; and I sat up, and gasped out : 
^Mr. Fleming!^ — ^you are going to marry Mr. Fleming!^ 

^ You wise child! * and here such a pretty blush came to her 
face; she looked almost like a girl that minute. ^ Yes, Olga, 
I have promised to marry Robert Fleming!^ 

* But how — how did it happen ? ^ I asked eagerly. ‘ I thought 
you told me that he would never ask you I ^ 

^ What I am I to confess all that ? It will take a long time, 
and you have not even congratulated me. Are you shocked 
or sorry, Olga ? Do you think I am an old goose to change 
my state so late in life? But* if I had been sixty when ho 
asked me, I would still have snapped my fingers at the world, 
and said yes!^ 

^ How can I be sorry, except for myself ? ^ I returned, lay- 
ing my cheek against her hand^ and, as I did so, I noticed a 
thick gold ring — like a guard— upon her finger. ^Do you 
*hink I can begrudge you any happiness after the life you 
have led here ? ^ and then, for the moment, I could say no 
more, for the thought of the Hall without her loved presence 
made my heart sink like lead; but she must not know it — no 
selfishness on my part should mar her pure happiness. ^ You 
have been so faithful,^ I whispered, after a brief silence, during 
which she sat stroking my hair, with a soft, far-away look in 
her eyes. 

‘He has been faithful, too,^ was her answer. ‘Do you 
know, Olga, you were right : he never meant to ask me ; he 
told me so. I was wrong in thinking his living would make 
a difference; he did not even then consider me within his 
reach. He was very foolish, very diffident. Oh, I have lec- 
tured him well, and made him ashamed of all his ridiculous 


422 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 


scruples; but, all the same, it is perfectly true, that, hut for 
the merest accident — a little drop of the curtain quite invol- 
untary on my part — we should not have been -engaged/ 

' ^Aunt Catherine, you must tell me more. I cannot be con- 
tent with anything so vague/ 

" My dear, it is not easy to tell. I hardly know myself how 
it came about; but I have a strong suspicion that Basil 
guessed our secret, but he would never own it; and Mr. 
Fleming assures me that not a word has ever passed between 
them on the subject, but I am not sure. Basil is very sharp, 
and Mr. Fleming may have betrayed himself. However, I 
need not trouble you about that/ 

^ Please tell me everything you can/ 

^ You know he spent some days with us at Hastings. Basil 
asked him. I was glad enough to see him; but I had given 
up all hopes that we should ever renew our broken engage- 
ment. I had seen him since he had* become Vicar of St. 
Mark’s, and his manner certainly gave me no idea that he 
considered himself anything but a friend of the family. He 
was always kind and considerate, always watchful for my 
comfort, always pleased to be with me and talk to me; but 
that was all. We spent two days very comfortably. I was 
becoming resigned to this state of things. I thought perhaps, 
after all, it would be better just for. us to continue as friends, 
and friends only, until the end of the chapter. What he 
thought right would be right in my eyes. Only now and 
then a twinge crossed me. If he should be ill, and I should 
have no right to nurse him — even to see him — how would it 
be with me then ? ’ 

^You would have been miserable/ I whispered. 

She pressed my hand, and went on : 

^ On the second evening we were sitting round the fire after 
dinner. Mr. Fleming had been telling about a curious love 
affair in his parish; it was more amusing than sentimental, 
and made us all laugh. When he had finished, Basil must 
needs cap it with another; but his was quite different. In 
its main points it resembled our story. Basil knew all the 
circumstances. The hero was a college don. He had loved 
a girl in his youth, and then they had been parted; and after 
thirty years they met, and were actually married. 

‘^‘They had both been faithful to each other all those 
years,” went on Basil, "but neither of them knew it; and 
when they met ” 

^And at that point I raised my eyes. Mr. Fleming was 
looking at me with a strange, eager, questioning look. Did X 


423 


AFTEBMATH. 

V ' '-v 

it, I -v^onder ? I saw a flash of intelligence, of joy, and 
then I looked no more; and Basil finished his story/ 

\ She was silent; hut I begged her, in a whisper, to go on. . 

* * Virginia praised the story and the lovers^ constancy; but 
Mr. Fleming said nothing, neither did I. Basil did not ap- 
pear to notice our want of loquacity. He talked on for a 
little, and then he asked Virginia if she were ready for bed. 
He always took her up to her room, and on this occasion he 
did not come back for at least an hou:\ When he strolled in 
later he said the moonlight had tempted him to smoke his 
cigar on the paradev^ 

‘And you and Mr. Fleming were left alone for she had 
paused here. 

‘Yes^ — a slow, comprehensive ^yes.^ ‘But there is very 
little to tell, Olga; it all came naturally. He only said, “ Is 
it true — is it really so, Catherine ? just as though he were 
taking up the thread of some conversation. “ Have you felt 
this for me was really his meaning, and I understood him 
at once. “All my life — all my that was my answer; 

and there was no hesitation after that.^ 

‘ Few men would have been so faithful.^ 

‘No, indeed not one in a thousand; but when I told him 
so, he said simply that the thought of asking any other 
woman to marry him had never entered his head; that he 
had never forgotten me, though he had always believed our 
union impossible. He confessed that his life had been very 
lonely, and only his affection for Basil had reconciled him to 
his solitary, hardworking existence; and then he asked me 
regretfully how I could leave my beloved old Hall to keep 
him company in his Vicarage. 

‘ “ How will you endure Leeds/’ he continued, “after living 
all these years in the country ?” ^ 

‘ I wonder how you answered him ? ^ 

‘ I should think you knew my answer beforehand/ she said, 
with another soft blush. ‘I soon made him understand that 
even hardships shared with him would be preferable to my 
present luxurious life. 

“‘AVe have lost too many years already,” I said to him. 
“Our youth is gone. We are middle-aged people. Do not 
let us spoil the remainder by raising imaginary obstacles. I 
am still a rich woman, though I have the Hall no longer; and 
if I come to the V icarage, you will soon see that I shall not 
miss any of my old comforts.” 

‘I very bold, Olga, and talked in this matter-of-&ct 


424 ' THE SEARCH FOR BA^IL LYHDHURST, 


fashion just to remove the last scruple, for I knew how he 
would torment himself about all these trifles/ 

‘And you are not afraid of the change ? ^ for it seemed to 
me a very solemn and serious undertaking for any woman of 
Aunt Catherine’s age to leave her own people and take up 
such a different life, for Miss Sefton was like a queen in 
Brookfield. 

‘I am afraid of nothing/ was her answer, ‘except that the 
years are so few that we shall spend together; and, Olga, I 
am no longer wanted here. Virginia is well and happy. She 
has a son to cherish her declining years; and as for Basil, 
after a time he will marry again, and his wife will he the mis- 
tress of the Hall. I neglect no duty in marrying Mr. Flem- 
ing, and in one sense I have been engaged to him all my life/ 
‘ Yes; I understand what you mean. Aunt Catherine, you 
must not think that because I am young 1 am not able to 
enter into your feelings. I understand it all^ — everything/ 

‘ Do you ? ^ she returned gently, and she looked at me rather 
strangely, as though she were reading me through and through. 
‘By-and-by you will understand, Olga; but not now — surely 
not now, for you have had no experience/ 

I hardly knew what she meant by this speech, which she 
spoke very gravely; but it somehow made me uncomfortable. 
Could not one understand such things by intuition ? It 
seemed to me that if I ever loved, my love would be like Aunt 
Catherine's — through life until death; no weak diluted mix- 
ture such as some women call love would ever satisfy me. 

I asked her a little tremulously how soon she thought they 
would be married, and she answered that they had already 
fixed the beginning of September. Mr. Fleming’s curate 
would be in priest’s orders by then, and he would be able to 
take three weeks’ holiday. September — then I should only 
have Aunt Catherine for four months ! She read this thought 
in my eyes, and answered it at once : 

‘ We will be together as much as possible. Olga, you must 
come and stay with me. I do not mean to give up my child ; 
and I shall be often at the Hall on short visits. You -shall 
not miss me too much, any of you. Oh, there is the gong for 
luncheon ! and we have talked for three whole hours ! ’ 


THE HEW VICAR, 


,425 


CHAPTER XLIV, 

THE NEW VICAR. 

‘ Self-reverent each, and reverencing each, 

Distinct in individualities, 

But like each other, ev’n as those who love.’ 

Tennyson. 

‘ Uphold me, Father, in my loneliness 
A little longer I Aid me, give me strength I ’ 

‘ Enoch Arden,^ 

When I told Jem the news, he was perfectly dumbfounded, 
and he owned nothing had ever surprised him so much; but 
when I had made him understand what a long affair it had 
been, and how those two had been faithful to each other for 
eight-and-twenty years, he threw up his cap in the air, and 
said, ‘ Bravo, Aunt Catherine ! I call that plucky I ^ and he was 
so excited that he must needs go with me that instant to tell 
Hubert. And when Aunt Catherine came to Fircroft the 
next day, Jem congratulated her in the nicest way. He told 
me afterward that he wanted to kiss her; and he was not 
the least bit brusque in his manners — indeed, I never saw 
Jem more to advantage. 

Mr. Fleming came to the Hall about ten days later, and 
Jem and I were invited to dinner to meet him. I never saw 
such a change in .any man; in spite of his gray hair he looked 
ten years younger — he was so bright, so alert, his keen, intel- 
ligent face v/as so full of animation. 

And as for Aunt Catherine, both Jem and I agreed after-* 
ward that she looked absolutely pretty. I was a little curi- 
ous to see how middle-aged people conducted themselves 
under such circumstances; but they were both so natural 
that, but for one or two little things on Mr. Fleiiiihg’s part,^ 
I should never have taken them for lovers.. 

But I noticed that, whenever Aunt Catherine spoke, Mr. 
Fleming suspended his own conversation to listen, as though 
he feared to lose a single word; and once, when she was spew- 
ing to Jem, I saw his eyes resting on her with such quiet 
satisfaction. I know he called her Catherine; but I never 
once heard her address him by any name— she told me after- 
wards that she kept’ Robert for private use; that in public ho 
was Mr. Fleming. 


42a THE SEARCH FOR RASIZ LYHBRURST: 

' I like Lim to say Catherine/ she remarked; ^ but, with all 
my boldness, I am too shy for anything but Mr. Fleming.’ 

Mr. Fleming took a great deal of notice of me; indeed, he 
was so marked in his attention, that I knew I stood high in 
his favor as Aunt Catherine’s protegee, ' 

‘You and I must be good friends,’ he said once, ^ for. wo 
have one strong point of sympathy between us;’ and he, talk.cd 
to me a great deal about Hubert’s trouble and my new work'^. 

Just at the last, I had a short conversation with Mr. Basil: 
I had sat by him at dinner, but he had been unusually quiet, 
and once or twice I wondered why he was so grave. He had 
talked more to Jem than any one. But as he brc 'ght me my 
cup of tea, and stood by me as I drank it, he commenced 
grumbling at Mr. Fleming having monopolized me all the 
evening : 

‘ There was no getting a word in,’ he observed. 

I plucked up a little spirit at this. 

^ You had plenty of opportunity at dinner/ I remarked 
with dignity; ^but I do not remember that you took advan- 
tage of it.’ 

This was a tnrust ne had not expected; he answered it 
quite seriously: 

‘ I hope I was not rude — 1 was in one of my taciturn moods; 
but with a table like ours ’ — ^the table at the Hall was circu- 
lar— ‘every word one speaks is overheard; one’s conversation 
is obliged to be general.’ 

‘So much the better!’ 

‘ Yes, on ordinary occasions; but I wanted to talh to you 
very .much. I^have never heard your opinion about this 
affair/ with a suggestive look at the opposite couch. 

Aunt Catherine was just then speaking to. Mr. Fleming. 
It was the first time he had approached her; how bright they 
both looked! 

‘There can be only one opinion/ I returned hastily: ‘ that 
it is the nicest thing that could possibly have happened ! ’ 

‘You think so; and yet you do not know him.’ 

‘Indeed I do! I have been looking at him through Aunt 
Catherine’s spectacles. If any one could be good enough for 
her, it would be Mr. Fleming! ’ 

‘ Thank you,’ he said in a low voice,, and he looked very 
pleased. 

‘ You agree with me, I know! ’ 

‘ To be sure I do. I do not think there is a man living to 
compare with Mr. Fleming, and I have known him close upon 
four-and-twenty years — ever since I was a little chap like 


THE NEW VICAR. 


427 


Reggie — and all those years I never heard an unkind word 
from his lips, or saw him do a mean action. As far as our 
imperfect human' nature will allow, I think he is as near per- 
fection as possible ! ^ 

^ I can say the same of Aunt Catherine. 

^ You must pardon me if I seem to disagree with you. I 
love Aunt Catherine dearly; but she is far more faulty as a 
woman than he is as a man. In spite of her virtues, I have 
known her hasty in her judgments, generous almost to im- 
prudence, and, with plenty of feminine failings, these make 
her all the more lovable, so you need not look so indignant/ 

^ I do not like to think that you place Mr. Fleming on a 
higher pedestal.’ 

* Why not ?’ quite earnestly; ^ Aunt Catherine would be the 
first to place him there herself; she would delight in his 
superiority. ^ I thought your true woman always idealizes the 
man she loves.’ 

* We were not talking of Aunt Catherine’s opinion, but of 
yours’ — in a tone of pique. ^Of course she thinks him far 
better than herself.’ 

^And you are ready to quarrel with me because I idealize 
him too. Try and put yourself in my place. Miss Leigh. 
Think of the lonely little chap I was, and how good he was 
to me! When I remember that man — his unfailing cheerful- 
ness, his quiet consistency, his unwearied labors among his 
people, the mild dignity which he opposed to ingratitude, the 
tenderness he showed to sinners — I am lost in amazement at 
the thought of his perfections ! ’ 

And as he talked like this, 1 forgot my girlish pique at his 
restricted praise of Aunt Catherine. 

‘ Well,’ he said presently, ^are you mollified ? have you for- 
given me yet ? I think 1 can say something that will please 
you. I am going to transpose your sentence: if any woman 
ever deserved him it is Aunt Catherine — will that content 
you.?’ 

‘ That sounds better, certainly; but, Mr. Basil, I want to ask 
you a question: did you guess how it was when you told that 
story ? ’ 

He looked a little queer; but I could not bring him to the 
point. He became all of a sudden rather dense' — wanted to 
know what story I meant; and when I told him it was about 
a college don, professed to have forgotten it, and then began 
teasing me by asking ^what little bird had been telling me;’ 
and so I was obliged to give it up. 

He had a return of gravity after this, and told me very 


428 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHEHURST. 



pleasure. 

^ But I might have known you better/ he finished; ^ I might 
have been sure that you would not have thought of yourself, 
and yet I know what it will cost you to part with your dear 
Aunt Catherine ! ^ 

And here he looked at me very kindly, just as though he 
understood all about it, and was sorry for me. I could find 
no answer, and then Jem came up and fetched me away; but 
I was glad afterward that I had had that little talk with him. 
I liked, after all, to think that Mr. Fleming stood so high in his 
estimation; and, of course. Aunt Catherine was not faultless! 

Aunt Catherine kept her promise of seeing me as much as 
possible, but my visits to the Hall were much restricted now. 
I could not often spend an evening there; an hour or two in 
the afternoon was all that could be spared. Aunt Catherine 
soon found out this for herself, but she was not long in dis- 
covering a remedy. 

One day Hubert surprised me very much by asking me 
what Kitty had said about Miss Boyle. I was so much taken 
aback at the question that I did not answer for a moment; and 
then he told me that Miss, Sef ton had been cpeaking to him 
— that she thought the children’s lessons added to all my 
other duties were a little too much for my strength — that I 
was growing thin, and always looked tired now, and then she 
had mentioned Miss Boyle in very high terms. 

‘ Is it true that dear Kitty wished you to speak to me on 
the subject, Olga?’ 

^ Yes, quite true; but Kitty said I was to speak in a few 
months’ time; there was no hurry. I wish Aunt Catherine 
had not talked to you, Hubert. I do so love teaching Mab 
and Jessie, and they are so good, too; and I do not care if I 
am tired, so that I can be a comfort to you;’ for I had just 
then such an unaccountable feeling — a longing for work. I 
could not bear to be unoccupied a moment. Perhaps I should 
have liked a little leisure now and then if I could spend it 
with Aunt Catherine; but in three short months she would 
be gone, and I should value my leisure no more. 

‘ My dear, you are a comfort to me,’ he said, with a sigh. 

‘ AVhiit should I do without you and Jem ? But you are like 
one of my own children. I must take care of you as I would 
of Mab and Jessie. I cannot have you grow thin in my ser- 
vice. Kitty wore herself out. I will not have my sister fol- 
low my wife’s example.’ 


THE NEW vicar: 429 

^But I am so strong/ I pleaded. And, indeed, I never ailed 
anything; so what did it matter if I grew a little thin ? 

‘Kitty was strong, too, once.^ He checked himself,'. and 
then begged me more quietly to repeat every word she had 
said on the subject. ‘ She was quite righV ke returned when 
I had finished. ‘ My darling was always so wise. Mab is 
clever, and ought to have good teaching; I will see Miss Boyle 
myself.^ 

Hubert was almost cheerful for the remainder of the day. 
I believe the idea that he was carrying out Kitty’s arrange- 
ment for her children gave him exquisite J)leasure. I knew 
it was no use saying a word to dissuade him ; I had lost my 
dear little pupils from that day. When Hubert came home 
that afternoon, he called me into the study and gave me an ac- 
count of his visit to Fir Cottage with a good deal of animation. 

‘ Miss Boyle is a most sensible person. She is not young — 
about six or seven and thirty, I should say — and she is quite 
a gentlewoman. Her manners prepossessed me from the first. 
She appears very amiable and pleasant. Slie spoke quite 
frankly of their circumstances; her sister’s trying state of 
health— she has some internal disease — had obliged her to 
throw up a most lucrative situation. She did not disguise 
their poverty — said they were new-comers, but that in time, 
with her good references, she hoped to secure a morning ori 
daily engagement; a morning engagement would suit her best, 
as she should not leave her sister so many hours alone.’- 

‘ Did you see the sister ? ’ 

‘Yes; poor Kosina, as she called her. She is a very plain' 
woman, but has a sensible face, like Miss Boyle. They were 
both so pleased when I spoke of my own children. Miss 
Boyle agreed at once to come from half-past nine until half- 
past twelve; the hours will be quite long enough for the little 
girls; and she begged that she might not stay to luncheon. 
If you like, Olga, you can still teach Willie for another year.’: 

‘ Oh, may I ? Thank you Hubert; ’ for I felt as though my 
mornings would be blank without the children. 

Aunt Catherine was charmed when she heard Miss Boyle 
had really been engaged, but I would not share her satisfac- 
tion. I grumbled so much that she laughingly told Mr. 
Basil when he came in from his ride that I was in a cantank- 
erous mood because I had been deprived of my two pupils, 
‘and she does not thank me a bit for my interference; she has 
as much as told me so.’ 

‘ It is always a trial. to relinquish work,’ he said, with evi- 
dent sympathy, and not joining in Aunt Catherine’s fun; *_it 


430 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


it were not asking too gi’eat a favor, Miss Leigh, I would beg 
you to let Reggie share Wilfred's lessons; he is such a big 
boy, and he does not know his letters properly/ 

I hardly know what 1 said in return, except that it woulcf 
be a great pleasure — a very great pleasure — to teach Reggie. 

^ All right; he shall come, then, and spell his a h, db, if you 
are sure you will not consider it a bore,’ he returned in quite 
an off-hand manner; but he did not say any more just then. 
Of course he saw that I had understood his motive; nothing 
would console me more for the loss of my pupils than the 
prospect of teaching Reggie. I longed to thank Mr. Basil for 
his thoughtfulness, but I could only stammer out again that 
it would be such a pleasure. 

My daily labors were considerably lightened now. The 
hour spent with Willie and Reggie in the nursery was simply 
a play-hour to us all. Every morning at ten Reggie came 
flying down the garden, with his spelling-book treked under 
his arm, and a sort of business-like gravity on his face. I 
wished his father could 'have seen him, toiling over the pot- 
hooks in his copy-book, or puzzling over the tremendous sen- 
tence ^ The cat has a rat,’ with his eyebrows raised and his 
dear little mouth puckered up. He never liked me to kiss 
him at such moments. ' Tell me about the cat, my Dear, and 
don’t be silly,’ he would say, quite crossly. 

Sometimes I took Reggie and Willie back to the Hall, and 
feat with Aunt Catherine while they played under Marsden’s 
care; but generally I went to her in the afternoon, or she 
would come across to me about tea-time. I never missed a 
day if I could help it. 

Jem had another tutorship for the long vacation, and only 
rushed home for a couple of days. He seemed more satisfied 
with my appearance, and told me encouragingly that I was 
all right now. 

^ Hubert told me last night what a clever little housekeeper 
you were,’ he said, as he walked round the garden after 
dinner; ^he says everything goes on like clockwork, and that 
Miss Boyle is a treasure. I wonder what Hubert means to 
do about pupils; there is Harry leaving at Christmas, and he 
has not inquired about any new ones.’ 

‘ He is not up to the work just now,’ I replied. ^ I do wish 
we need not have any more pupils, Jem; they give so much 
trouble in the house, and it is so awkward for me. Harry does 
not matter, of course; he is one of us; but if any other young 
man comes, Hubert will be obliged to spend his evenings in 
the drawing-room.’ 


THE NEW VICAR. 


431 


I heed not have disquieted myself on the subject, for a few 
days after our talk Hubert had a letter from Biarritz. The 
poor old vicar of Brookfield, who had been dragging on a suffer- 
ing existence for the last three years, had succumbed at last 
to his malady, and the tidings of his death reached us. Hu- 
bert told me the news very gravely, but he made no further 
comment on it, neither did Aunt Catherine when I v/ent 
across that morning. 

^ Mr. Bevan has been an absentee so long that people will 
not miss him,' was all she said; ^he was a good old man, but 
somewhat deficient in energy. I think the people like Mr. 
Leigh better.' 

It seemed good taste not to pursue the subject. I was quite 
aware that the living was in the Squire's gift; indeed, in old 
times a Sefton had always held it. The Vicarage was a large 
house, but was sadly in need of repairs. The Bevan s, who 
had no children, had simply used a few rooms and shut up 
the remainder; in fact, Hubert once told me the dilapidations 
would be immense, and it would take hundreds of pounds to 
make it habitable for a large family. He and Kitty had taken 
a dislike to it; they had never thought it healthy, and the 
garden was thickly wooded and very damp. Hubert once de- 
clared in my hearing that nothing would induce him to leave 
Fircroft. I think we all felt a little unsettled for the next 
two days, and then Hubert called me into his study, and told 
me a little sadly that the Squire had offered him the living, 
and he had accepted it. 

‘And you are really the Vicar of Brookfield?' I asked a 
little breathlessly, but somehow I did not dare to congratu- 
late him. 

‘ Yes, dear. Kitty was always wishing this to happen, but 
We thought the poor old Vicar would last for years. Lynd- 
hurst has been most generous; he wanted to take most of the 
repairs of the Vicarage on his own shoulders. He declared 
the dilapidations would almost ruin the widow, but he soon 
saw there was no necessity. I told him, Olga, that nothing 
would induce me to quit Fircroft, where every room is sacred 
to me, and then he suggested that I should live here rent 
free.' 

‘ I always forget Mr. Basil is our landlord.' 

‘ Of course I declined this generous proposition. The liv- 
ing is a good one, and with the little’ I have of my own I 
shall have sufficient without taking pupils. One thing pleases 
me much : Montague will remain as my curate. There is to 


432 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST, 


be a mission eburch at Braidley, and, as it v/ill be three miles 
off, I could not undertake both churches/ 

‘A mission church at Braidley! how delighted Aunt Cath- 
erine will be I This has been her wish for years/ 

^ It seems to be the Squire^s wish too. He tells me that his 
mother’s fortune has accumulated all these years, that she 
has been hoarding her money for him, and that he is almost 
alarmed to find how rich he is, and so he has persuaded her 
that this church at Braidley must be built, and she has fallen 
in with his views. I tell you this in confidence, Olga — I think 
Lyndhurst means it as a thank-offering.’ 

^ Is Mr. Montague to be the incumbent ? ’ 

‘I do not know; I am not sure. I think at first we shall 
work it together; but there will be plenty of time to make 
iup our minds/ 

^ May I speak to Aunt Catherine about it ?’ 

‘ Perhaps you had better wait until she talks to you ; ^ and 
them I did bring my sell* to say a word of congratulation to 
Hubert. 

^ Of course I am glad about it,’ he said quietly, but there 
was no gladness in his face. ^ It is a relief to know that I shall 
spend my life at Brookfield ; I am attached to the people, and 
I lov'' Fircroft, and my Kitty’s grave is here; and by-and- 
by, when the children can shift for themselves, I shall per- 
haps say my Nunc Dimittis, -God grant it!’ he added very 
sadly. 

Poor Hubert! the wound was not yet beginning to heal 
We Leighs were a faithful race, singularly tenacious in our 
attachments. It would be years before Hubert would recon- 
cile himself to the loss of his Kitty, before he would own 
that life held any attraciions for him. 

Aunt Catherine spoke of the new Vicar the moment she 
saw me. 

^ I am so glad it is all settled,’ she said, as we sat in the old 
English garden that afternoon. ^ Basil did not take long to 
make up his mind; the moment he read Mrs. Sevan’s note 
he exclaimed, ^^Now Mr. Leigh can have the living.’” 

^ I am so pleased you did not mention it to him first.’ 

^Oh no! it was quite his own idea. He has the highest 
opinion of your brother; he says he is so humble-minded, and 
BO sincere ; and then he admires him for the way he bears his 
trouble. I think he has a good opinion of all the Leighs.’ 

^ I am glad of that.’ 

' Has Mr. Leigh told you about Basil’s plan — I mean the 
church for Braidley ? ’ and as I nodded, she continued eagerly. 


THE NEW VICAR, 


433 


^That was not quite his own idea; it grew out of a conversa- 
tion he and Mr. Fleming and I had together at Hastings. 
Basil was grumbling half in fun about his money. ‘‘1 cannot 
use half/^ he said, "and one pony is enough for Reggie. 
Ladybird 'and a couple of hunters for my own use are about 
as much as I want; 'and then he added more seriously, "I 
do not like the idea of spending it all on myself, and if I only 
knew some object ! ” " Why not build a church for Brj^idley ? ” 
I exclaimed, and Mr. Fleming caught up the notion at once, 
and so did Basil. I had to tell them all about the place, and 
how the people had to walk three miles to church, and there is 
only a Dissenting chapel in the place. I finished, " And all 
the poorer people attend that.” Well, we sat up until mid- 
night discussing it, and when I bade them good night, Basil 
followed me into the passage. 

^"It is a good thought of yours. Aunt Catherine,” he said 
very earnestly; "a church for these poor people will be just, 
the thing. It will be a thank-offering from my mother and 
myself.” 

‘"And from me too,” I implored; for the preceding even- 
ing Mr. Fleming had spoken to me, and I wanted to be ready 
with my Te Deum too. " You must let me give a thousand 
pounds, Basil.” And after a little he consented.' 

‘ And it is to be begun at once ? ' 

‘ Oh yes; Basil has seen the architect, and the site is all ready. 
Basil is not one to let the grass grow under his feet — he is 
a regular Sefton in that. I never saw ‘""ch energy; he works 
splendidly. I have nothing to do now, and he is just as in- 
defatigable in his amusements — riding, shooting, tennis. He 
puts his heart into everything.' 

‘ And yet he never seems tired.' 

‘Tired! The word is net in his vocabulary. He certainly 
has a magnificent physique. .Only mental worry tires Basil. 
He and Reggie are often out riding before breakfast. After 
breakfast he writes his letters, looks at the paper, talks to his 
mother, and then, perhaps, goes riding again. In the after- 
noon, if any one challenges him, he is quite ready for a game 
of tennis or a drive in his dog-cart;- or he will run over to 
Brighton, and have a dip in the sea. Sometimes he is a little 
sleepy after dinner, but he never gives in to it; and after a 
cup of coffee and a chat with us, he goes off to the library to 
read. I tell him his days are three times as long as other 
people's.' 

‘'I never saw him look so well. But he is always grave now.' 

^ I know wliat you mean ; but that will wear off by degrees, 
28 


434 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


At times he is still a little depressed — when he goes to see 
Mr. Barton, for example.’ 

^ Oh ! by-thevby, how is that poor man ? ’ 

^Better — certainly better. He talks a great deal about 
Aline still, but Basil thinks he is more cheerful; he takes an 
interest in his business, and in the evening he always has a 
friend to smoke with him. Basil means to take Keggie one 
day to see him. He thinks Mr. Barton has a hankering after 
the boy.’ 

‘ And he will not come to the Hall ? ’ 

‘No, he has positively declined every invitation. But 
Becky tells Basil that he is never tired of talking about Allie’s 
fine home. He has got her velvet mantle locked up in a 
drawer, and sometimes he takes Becky to see it. “ She looked 
like a queen in it, didn’t she, Becky ? ” he would say. Wasn’t 
it grand to see her — and the diamonds flashing on her Angers ? 
And to think it was my girl Allie! 

I met Mr. Basil in the avenue that afternoon; he was in 
his tennis flannels, and was carrying his racket. He looked 
flushed and heated with the game, for it was a July afternoon, 
but he would insist on walking with me to the gate at Fir- 
croft. On the way he asked me what Aunt Catherine and I 
had been talking about, and without a moment’s hesitation I 
blurted out, ‘ Braidley Church,’ for that had appeared to mo 
the important item in the conversation. 

He seemed a little taken aback at this answer. 

‘ I hope you approved ^ ’ he said, in a low voice, twisting hii 
racket rather nervously. 

‘ I think it a lovely idea,’ I returned warmly. 

He turned such a bright face on me as I made this eloquentl 
remark. 

‘I was sure you would like it, but I could not bring myself 
to ask you ; it seemed so conceited to mention it, don’t you 
know. But all the same, I was dying to know what you 
thought of our plan.’ 

‘ You could not have doubted my opinion for a moment. 
Not that I have any right to give it.’ 

‘ No one has more right,’ he returned impetuously. ‘ There 
is no one whose opinion I should value so highly.’ And then 
he added more quietly, and with a sort of effort : ‘ I always 
regard you as a special friend. Miss Leigh.’ 

‘Oh yes, thank you.’ And then I said hurriedly: ‘The 
church will be a great blessing to Braidley.’ 

‘ I hope so; it seems terribly needed.’ And, half laughing: 
‘It will be a blessing to me, too, for it will give me plenty of 


A VIOLET IN ^EPTEMBEll. 


435 


work. Ladybird and I are likely to be tired of the Braidlevj 
road.^ 

^ You ought to be tired now, nlaying tennis this hot affcelv 
noon/ 

^ Well, Montague* cried off at last,, and so did Vivian; they) 
declared they could not play any longer. What a nice fellow! 
Montague is! Is he not ? Harry and Jem are always sing- 
ing his praises He is a lucky beggar, too; he talks about 
getting married next summer. Jem says he is engaged to am 
uncommonly pretty girl, and she is nice in the bargainj 
Don’t you .think he is to be envied. Miss Leigh ? ^ 

^ I — I don’t know, I suppose so, if she is really nice,’ for] 
Mr. Basil’s manner rather confused me — it was half mischiev-^ 
ous, half serious. I told him I was in a great hurry, but hel 
did not seem to believe me, and he talked about Mr. Mon-j 
tague and his pretty Barbara all the way to Fircroft<; : 

‘ I think he is a fellow to be envied,’ he repeated. ' 

^ But he is poor — ^they will both be poor,’ I said rather! 
stumdly. 

^ Under some circumstances poverty is an evil that can bei 
lightly borne. With youth, strength, and mutual love, they 
will not need your pity.’ And then he gave me a droll look.i 
don’t believe you would be more prudent than Barbara 
Campbell, under the circumstances,’ with a stress on the last 
words, ‘ especially if you saw any chance of making yourself 
uncomfortable for somebody’s else sake.’ 

Kow, was not that a pretty compliment to my unselfishness 
oh Mr. Basil’s part, though he took off his hat and left me 
the moment he had s^id it, as though he feared a reproof on 
my part ? 


CHAPTER XLV.\ 

A VIOLET m SEPTEMB’^R. 

* Etenial blessings crown, my earliest friend, 

) And round his dwelling guardian saints attend/ 

G0LDSMITH.V 

» *My love is iiKe the steadfast sun. 

Or streams that deepen as they run ; 

I^think thee, wedded wife 01 mine, 

♦he best of all that’s not divine.’ 

Those summer days passed an too quickly.. July came,! 
then August, with its ripe golden days apd balmy nights, and 


436 


Tim SEARCH FOR BA^IL LYFBHUEST 


then September; and from that time I began to count the 
hours as jealously as a miser. Aunt Catherine made all her 
arrangements very quietly. To my disappointment, tlie wed- 
ding was not to be at Brookfield; but when she told me her 
reasons, I could not but own she was right. She and Mr. 
Fleming wished the ceremony to be as quiet as possible. 
Aunt Catherine’s position in the county, her great popularity 
in the village, would have brought crowds of her richer and 
poorer neighbors to Brookfield Church; the school children 
would have strewn flowers, and the churchyard would have 
been lined v/ith friendly faces. 

^ We cannot face it, Olga,’ she said decidedly. ^ We are not 
young people, and we must be married in our own way;’ and 
then she told me her plans. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst would not be at the wedding under any cir- 
cumstances; but on the morning before the eventful day. 
Aunt Catherine and I and Marsden were to go to a quiet 
family hotel near Berkeley Square. The rooms were already 
taken. Mr. Basil would join us early the next morning; and 
Jem, whose tutorship was just over, had permission to meet 
us at the church. There would be no one else except the 
lawyer who was t'^ give Aunt Catherine away, and she and Mr. 
Fleming intended to drive straight from the church to the 
station en route for the English Lakes. They were to bo 
married at a church near Baker Street by an old college friend 
of Mr. Fleming’s, Who would, have thought one of the lai ies 
of Brookfield Hall would have married so quietly, nay 
humbly ? 

It did me good to see Aunt Catherine’s gentle composure 
during those last few days. There was much to do, many to 
whom she had to say good by; but she fulfilled every duty 
without haste or flurry, overlooking no one, but giving to each 
one their due. She said very little about herself and the 
future. I think her happiness lay too deep for speech; but 
there was a serenity — a quiet content — in her looks that spoke 
volumes. She seemed hardly to regret bidding good-by to 
her beautiful home. 

‘ I shall be often here — we shall be often here,’ she cor- 
rected herself; * and it is Basil’s house, not mine.’ And once 
she said a word that gave a clue to everything: ^ There is 
nothing to regret; everything is as it should be. I have no 
room for anything but thankfulness. My one thought is to 
make up to him for all the years of happiness he has lost.’ 

We had one last long talk the evening before she left the 
Hall. I had been there most of the day helping Marsden, 


A VIOLIST IN’ SEPTEMBER. 


437 


Aunt Catherine had left us pretty much to ourselves. She 
had been sitting with Mrs. Lyndhurst and walking with Mr. 
Basil; but after dinner, instead of joining the others in the 
drawing-rroom, she called me into her dressing-room. 

^Virginia has talked enough,^ she said quietly, ‘and Basil 
and I have said all we want to say to each other; and now it 
is your turn, Olga, for to-morrow I shall only be thinking of 
myself, and shall not have a thought to spare for any one;' 
and then she began giving me advice in her wise, kindly "way, 
mentioning all my little difficulties one by one, and giving 
me her ideas how each one should be met. ‘ You must prom- 
ise me one thing,' she went on, when she had drawn from me 
another confession or two : ‘ promise me that I shall not be 
less to you at Leeds than I am at the Hall. Your weekly 
letter must tell me .evei’y thing about yourself. I must still 
share your life as much as I have always done.' 

Was it not sweet of her to say this ? 

And you must not let Virginia miss me too much. Of 
course I do not expect you to pay her a daily visit with all 
your horn© duties. That would be asking too muck; but, 
indeed, I need not speak about this, for I know you will not 
neglect ker, and we have already decided that for the present 
your brother must be your first duty.' 

‘Not only for the present,' I murmured; but she took no 
notice of this little speech. 

‘ I am glad you will have Reggie every day. It will make 
you happier, will it not ? My dear, what I am going to say 
will sound a little unfeeling, for I knov;' you are sad to-night 
witli the- prospect of losing me, and I ought in my sympathy 
to be sad, too; but I -cannot be — I am far too happy about 
you.' 

What a strange speech ! and my heart was so full, too. I 
could hardly keep the tears back. 

‘Am I bewildering you? What a reproachful look, Olga! 
Oh, I cannot explain myself — at least, not fully; but at leai^t 
I can say this, that I am leaving you in the safe path of 
duty.' 

‘ Oh, if you mean that I ' im a relieved tone, for of course 
she was speaking of Hubert. 

‘ My dear, the last time I. gave my village Bible-class, we 
were reading, that striking passage about the Israelites cross- 
ing the Red Sea. I know no lesson so suggestive, so pregnant 
with meaning to all of us. Do you remember the situation — 
how they were shut in — entangled — enemies behind and rag- 
ing waves before; and tlie message came “ Stand still! " ?' 


488 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHBHURST. 


^ Well ?’ for she had paused here, with a sort of solemuity 
in her manner. 

Stand still Could anything be safer ? Wait^watch 
—until the path opens; it is now' closed; and then, as the 
waves rolled back, Go forward I 

^ Oh, I see.^ 

^Are you sure that you see ? — are you sure you take in all 
the meaning ? You are " standing still now, just doing your 
work from day to day. Never mind how you like it, how long 
ifc is to last. Never mind if you see no hope or vestige of a 
change. How can you until the way opens — until you hear 
the Go forward spoken and approved by your own con- 
science ? Darling, do you think you understand now 

^ Yes, yes ; ^ but I said it with tears, I felt a choking sensa- 
tion that this was not the life I wanted. 

^And so,^ drawing me closer to her, ^ I do not fear to leave 
you. I love you too well to rob you of the sweet privilege of 
sharing your brother’s burthens. Your after-life will be all 
the brighter for the knowledge that you have done your duty. 
But now we have talked enough, and Basil will be wondering 
what has become of me. I am going to send you home now; 
but you will come very early in the morning.’ 

I promised this without difficulty, for I knew Hubert would 
be too willing to spare me. I was glad to escape without en- 
countering Mr. Basil again, for I was ashamed that ^e should 
see the marks of tears on my face. It seemed so selfish to 
fret when Aunt Catherine was so happy. 

As I walked down the avenue I thought how strange it was 
that she had never once mentioned Mr. Basil, or expressed 
any sorrow in leaving him or Keggie. Love must be a won- 
derful thing, I thought, if it made people forget their nearest 
and dearest; and then I checked this thought, as though it 
wronged her. She had her reasons. Perhaps she was feeling 
it all the time, although she forbore to speak of ifc. She cer- 
tainly loved them both dearly. Mr. Basil had been away a 
great deal this summer. I had once Expressed my surprise 
to Aunt Catherine that he should care to leave her; but she 
had replied rather more curtly than usual that it was by her 
wish that he had done so; that the change was good for 
him. 

So there had been grouse-shooting and salmon-fishing and 
even deer-stalking in Scotland for nearly five weeks, and Mr. 
Basil only returned to the Hall three or four days before the 
wedding; indeed, I had not seen him before That evening. 
He seemed in excellent spirits, said he had had splendid 


A VIOLET m 8EPTE3IBER: 


489 


weather and plenty of sport, and was now going to settle 
down for the winter. He did not look quite pleased as I gave 
an incredulous smile at this piece of information. 

^ I believe you think I like rushing about better than stay- 
ing at home,^ he said, in rather a piqued voice. ^You are 
wrong if you think so. I never want to stir from the Hall. 
I am happier here than anywhere;^ and though I found this 
difficult to believe, I dared not say another word, for he 
seemed rather touchy on the subject, and Aunt Catherine in- 
terposed somewhat hastily with a question as to whether ho 
had found her a piece of white heather. 

Mr. Basil had. been a little silent all the rest of dinner-time, 
and I wondered more than once why my incredulity about his 
settling down had given him offence. I know I tried hard to 
draw him into conversation by all sorts of little appeals; but 
he answered me each time so gravely that I was obliged to 
leave him alone, and after that Aunt Catherine had called me 
to her dressing-room. 

But' he seemed to have forgotten all about it when I went 
up to the Hall the next morning. The servants were bring- 
ing down the luggage, and he told me that Aunt Catherine 
was with his mother. 

^My mother is a little low this morning,^ he> said; ^that is 
why I am going to 'stop with her instead of giving you and 
Aunt Catherine the pleasure of my company up to town;^ 
and here he waited for me to contradict him, but I had not 
the spirit of a mouse this morning, and he might have said 
what he liked unchallenged. I suppose he saw this, for ho 
went on sedately : ^ I grumbled at first when Aunt Catherine 
made the arrangement. I thought she wanted to get rid of 
me, but now I see she is right; my mother will require cheer- 
ing up. I am going to. take her for a drive presently, and 
we will get some lunch at that pretty old inn out by Yatton; 
and I will show her the village and the churchyard, and when 
the horses have had a rest, we will drive back to dinner.^ 

^ Will Ecggie go, too 

‘ Oh yes; Keggie will go, too; ' and then he did look a little 
mischievous, as though he longed to say something, but just 
then Aunt Catherine came in, looking somewhat agitated; 
the parting with her sister after all these years had doubtless 
tried her. 

Mrs. Lyndhurst would not have spared her feelings; and 
even Aunt Catherine's gentle serenity had given way for a 
moment. It v/as then that Mr. Basil came to her aid; he 
asked her in a low voice if she were ready, and as she seemed 


440 :THB SEARCH FOR BASIL LYmilURST. 


hardly able to answer him, he said cheerfully that it was no 
use losing the train, and he wanted the carriage to take his 
mother to Yatton, and would she please put on her gloves ? 
But before they were buttoned he had drawn her hand 
through his arm. 

^ There is no time to be losV he observed; 'you must just 
shake hands with Mrs. Larkin- and Bennet;^ but he hurried 
her off before poor Mrs. Larkins could say a word. 

I saw Aunt Catherine look back at the Hall through her 
tears, and then she pressed Mr. Basil’s hand. I could not 
hear what she said to him, but he colored and looked dov/n 
and there was a moved expression on his face. I looked away 
at once, and tried not to listen. Presently Aunt Catherine 
addressed me; she wanted^ me to remind her of something 
when we got to Victoria. She had regained her composure* 
As we stood together on the platform she gave some messages 
to Mr. Basil. 

‘ Tell Mrs. Larkins that I was too much upset to speak to 
her just then,’ she said. There was no hurry, after all. Wo 
have time to wait, you see.’ 

^ The Hall clock must be fast,’ returned Mr. Basil gravely. 
He had the audacity to add, ‘After all, it is a good fault; but 
I may as well tell Bennet to regulate it. Ah, there comes 
the train I Miss Leigh, I shall put Aunt Catherine in your 
charge now;’ and he bade her an affectionate adieu. 

The rest of the day passed very quietly. We had a late 
luncheon. In the afternoon Mr. Fleming was expected, and 
I went up to Marsden. But in a little while Aunt Catherine 
came in search of me. She said they wero going to evensong 
at All Saints’, Margaret Street, and she wished me to come, 
too. 

What a quiet, tranquil hour that was! how infinitely more 
soothing than the ordinary bustle before a wedding! It made 
one feel better to be near those two, who, after their sorely 
tried lives, had attained their heart’s desire. Ah, well ! youth 
is good, and long waiting is sad ; but were they any less happy 
that all those years they had done their duty ? ^The evening 
sunshine was streaming down on the knot of worshippers, 
and as it lighted up Aunt Catherine’s sweet face, and I no- 
ticed Mr. Fleming’s calm, reverent manner as he made the 
responses, I knew no hearts were more glad than theirs — that 
a richer aftermath in this world’s gleaning had never been 
known. 

They parted very quietly after this. Mr. Fleming was to 
dine and sleep at the house of his friend, the Vicar of St. 


A VIOLET m SEPTEMSEIL 441 

Jude’s. He just walked with us to the door of our hotel and 
left us there. 

Aunt Catherine remained in her own room until dinner- 
time. There was very little talk between us that evening. 
She asked me to take my book, but I noticed that hers was 
on her lap unopened, and when the twilight closed in her ab- 
straction was so great that she did not notice that I could not 
see to read, and I was so fearful of disturbing her that I sat 
quite motionless. She rose at last, in a little hurry and ac- 
cused herself of selfishness. 

‘ I will ring for lights,’ she said apologetically. * My dear, 
I fear you are having a dull evening; but you will have Jem 
to-morrow. Shall you mind if I go to ray own room how ? 
You have been very good> but therei are times when one must 
be alone.’ 

It was certainly a little surprise to me the next morning 
when, on coming down to our late breakfast — Aunt Catherine 
had proposed a late breakfast— I found Mr. Basil standing at 
the window. He gave me a critical look as he shook hands. 

' Is it allowable to make a remark he asked. ‘ It is such 
a relief not to see you in black. It is quite a rest to one’s 
mind.’ 

‘This is Aunt Catherine’s choice,’ I. answered shyly; ‘she 
has given me the dress, so I do hot mind your admiring it.’ 

‘And I do admire it very much,’ he interrupted. 

But I was not going to let him go on like that. 

‘ Pray, have you fiown here, Mr. Basil ? ’• 

‘ Well> not exactly; but I took the first train, for I me'int 
all along to breakfast with you and Aunt Catherine. I 
thought you might want me to keep up your spirits;’ and 
then he checked himself, for the waiter was bringing in the 
coffee, and Aunt Catherine was following him. 

She did not seem at all surprised to see Mr. Basil, only a 
faint blush came to her cheek when she heard him tell me in 
a very audible whisper that he had never seen her look so 
nice, though the only notice she took of it was to tell us to 
come to breakfast. I think Mr. Basil was the only one who 
talked much, but it struck me tht^t he was not really in such 
-good spirits, only he made an effort to appear so. I heard: 
afterward that he had dreade.d'the day, and that he had to 
keep himself well in hand to go through the service. Poor 
fellow I it must have been a- painful ordeal to him, for he had 
never attended any wedding but his own. Aunt Catherine 
was very silent. Once or twice she started when Mr. Basil 
addressed her; it was evident her thoughts were far away. 


i42 THE SEARCH FOR EASIL LTNUHURST. 

By-and by I whispered to him not to disturb her, and then 
he took the hint, and talked only to me, until she rose and 
said that it was time to get ready for church. I went into 
her room presently to tell her the carriage was at the door, 
and that Mr. Garde w, the family lawyer, was waiting for her. 
She was standing by the window, ready dressed, with her 
little prayerbook in her hand. The dark-gray silk seemed to 
harmonize exactly with her quiet, tranquil face. She held 
out her hand to me with her old smile. 

am ready,’ she said* gently; 'and I think I am not so 
nervous as you. What makes you look so pale, Olga ? You 
want your old color to match that pretty dress.’ 

It was only a few minutes’ drive. J em was at the church- 
door to receive us. He looked bright and well, and gave me 
an approving nod as I joined him. He and Mr. Basil and I 
sat together. Ah, well ! I have seen many weddings since, 
but ifc seems to me that I never saw one more to my taste 
than that wedding in that empty church ; and yet the bride 
was elderly, and the bridegroom gray- haired and worn. But 
as I heard the tender solemnity of those, two voices, as they 
exchanged vows that had been forbidden in youth, I felt no 
union could be more blessed and perfect than theirs. We 
followed them into the Vestry. Aunt Catherine was signing 
her name, and her husband was standing beside her. She 
laid down her pen to greet us. Mr. Basil came first; then 
uhe held our her hands to me, and offered her cheek to 
Jem. 

We were only a few minutes with her. Just at the last she 
put her hand on my arm. 

'Eemember our talk, Olga. Be good, be brave; above all, 
be happy, and God bless you ! ’ Then she turned to Mr. 
Fleming, am ready, Robert. I have not kept }ou waiting, 
have I ? Where is Basil ? 

' He has gone outside’ to see the last of- us.’ 

But I heard no more: she was gone — my dear Aunt Cath- 
erine was gone. My tears were falling fast as I walked down 
the empty aisle beside Jem. Mr. Basil was lookir^g for us. 
To my relief, be took no notice of me, and addressed Jem in 
cheerful, off-hand fashion. 

‘ There is no eradicating the remnants of superstition from 
an uncultured mind. Marsden is an excellent creature, but 
she has the faults of her class. AVould you believe it, Leigh, 
she had secreted a satin slipper to throw after the carriage 
for luck! I caught her in the act — did, indeed. I thought 
Mr. Cardew looked amused. She has gone back to the hotel 


A VIOLET IJSr SEPTEMBER, 443 

ko collect the things and settle the bill. And now what shall 
we do with ourselves ? ’ 

^ We may as well get some luncheon first/ suggested Jem 
briskly. 

^ The very thing I was going to propose. Look here,- you 
two are going to be my guests. There is a first-rate restaurant 
a stone’s-throw from here, and we must have some champagne 
to drink the health of the happy couple.^ 

It was no use my uttering a feeble protest against the 
champagne ; Mr. Basil was determined to have his way. 

How I wished I could have enjoyed the little feast 1 he and 
Jem were so kind, so gay, so bent on cheering me. We had 
a little table to ourselves in a window overlooking the street. 
I was still in my wedding garb — neither of them would hear 
'of my changing my dress. Black should not be worn that 
day, they said. 

On our way to the restaurant Mr. Basil bdught me some 
lovely flowers. The luncheon he ordered was most luxurious. 
He consulted Jem gravely about the champagne; there must 
be dessert— fruit, coffee; there was no end to his munificence. 
And afterward he bought bonbons for Reggie and our chil- 
dren, until I implored him seriously to desist. 

It was impossible to remain silent or depressed under such 
circumstances. I never could resist Jem^s fun, and it pleased 
me to see how well he got on with Mr. Basil. After all, I 
was young. The sun was shining. ' Who could withstand the 
mingled influence of sunshine, kindness, and flowers? I 
began to listen to their.stories, to talk myself, to laugh. Jem 
patted me on the shoulder, and said it was the champagne, 
but I knew better — it was the kind consideration that had 
shielded me, the unspoken sympathy, the generous effort to 
be gay. How could I refuse to smile and be happy ? 

I think Mr. Basil was a little disappointed when he found 
iwe v/ere not going back with him to Brookfield; but Jein 
[had begged me to wait for a later train: he wanted to intro- 
Iduce me to his friends, the Campbells. I found he had set 
his heart on this little plan. I^should not be tired, he- would 
treat me to a hansom. He, had said something about it yes- 
terday, when he was dining at Addison Road, and the girla 
had begged him to bring me over to tea. 

Yes, I am sure that Mr. Basil was disappointed; but of 
course he would not interfere with Jem^s plans. Jem was 
looking so eager about it, so desirous of conveying to me the ex- 
act message that had been sent, and in such visible anxiety lest 
any obstacle should be raised, that one could UPt thwart him,' 


444 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHD HURST. 


It was ratlier irksome to me to go among strangers on such 
a day. I would far ratlier have gone back quietly to Brook- 
field, but I would not hint this to Jeni. So after a time Mr. 
Basil sent for a hansom, but I thought he looked a little dull 
walking down Regent Street alone. I told Jem that I wished 
he could have come too, but he said he could not have taken 
such a liberty with Mrs. Campbell. 

Jem talked about the family as we drove along. I found 
he had seen a good deal of them froni time to time. I began 
to have my suspicions. Violet’s name was never once men- 
tioned — it was Miss Barbara or Miss Lillie. 

I waited vainly to hear the eldest sister mentioned. Pres- 
ently he said, ^Miss Campbell played a great deal of classical 
music,’ but his tone w^as a little constrained. I began to be 
eager to see this Violet, for it might be that Jem — well, one 
never knew whether young men of his age were really in 
earnest. 

The Campbells lived in a large old-fashioned house stand- 
ing back from the main road ; the big double drawing-room 
into which we were at once ushered seemed very full of girls 
— alarmingly so. There were girls in hats and without hats; 
girls with rackets, and other girls with teacups in their hands; 
but my fears for Jem’s future peace of mind subsided when 
I found a 'few of them were neighbors. A stout, ladylike 
woman, with a very soft voice, received us; and a very pretty 
girl— whom 'she called Gipsy and Jem called Miss Barbara, 
and who was Mr. Montague’s fiancee, brought me a cup of 
'tea and another younger and fairer one, with a comical little 
turned-up nose, tried to tempt me with various sorts of cake. 

I sat and tried to answer Mrs.- Campbell’s civil inquiries. 
Jem had told them about the wedding, and Miss Barbara and 
her younger sisters plied me with questions. It was pleasant, 
but rather fatiguing, and all the time a buzz of girlish voices 
and laughter seemed to fill the room. 

Jem was in the middle of a bevy of girls; he was harangu- 
ing them, teacup in hand, and was very much at his ease. I 
took advantage of a lull in the conversation to ask Miss Bar- 
bara if her sister Violet were jn the room. 

^ Oh no,’ she replied ; ^ she is playing tennis, Vi is our best 
player; but the set will soon be over. I come next to Vi. 
Wasn’t it impertinent of me to get engaged before her ? Lillie 
comes next.’ So the young lady with the nez reorousse was 
Lillie. "Then Emily and Maud. Maud is in short frocks, 
you see.’ 

"And the rest are friends ?’ 


A VIOLET IE SEPTEMBER. 


445 


'Yes, or cousins. We have cousins by the dozen;’ and so 
she chattered on. 

I was mightily pleased with this little Miss Barbara; sue 
was so naive and bright — in fact, they seemed a nice family. 
A few minutes later Jem’s voice startled me out of a dream.. 
My thoughts had flown to Aunt Catherine. 

^ Olga, Miss Campbell wishes to be introduced to you ; ’ and 
there was a young lady, in a sailor hat, standing by Jem, with 
very soft, gray eyes, and. an open, frank face, that I thought 
extremely taking; and yet it was not pretty — oh no, not in 
the least pretty. 

^It was very good of you to come to us. I am sure you' 
must be tired,’ she said, in a clear, decided voice that was 
pleasant like her face. 'Weddings are trying things, espe- 
cially if one is much interested in them. Y our sister certainly 
looks tired, Mr. Leigh. The room is hot, and all those girls 
are so noisy; perhaps a turn in the garden would be refresh- 
ing.’ 

I hailed this at once, and Jem accompanied us, of course. 
1 knew how it wa^ as I paced up and down between those 
two. Violet Campbell would be just the sort of girl to suit 
Jem:; he would not care for beauty — not actual beauty. Miss 
Barbara was the acknowledged- belle of the Campbell family., 
An amiable, sprightly girl, with no nonsense in hei*, and 
plenty of character, would be more in Jem’s line. I felt P 
should like her immensely. She was not specially clever; 
there was nothing original in her remarks; but she was clear- 
witted and kind hearted, and could oppose Jem’s sarcasm with 
a gentle raillery that evidently suited him exactly. I began 
to think that I admired her very much before we took our 
leave. I liked her clear complexion, glowing with health — 
the dimple in her cheek, the particular shade of her brown 
hair; and she had a pretty figure, too. We .stayed as long as 
we could, and then Jem put me into another hansom. 

'We shall only just do it,’ he said. 'I wasted a good three 
minutes looking for my hat. I hope you are not tired, Olga; 
hut you can rest tormorrow.’ 

'Jem,’ I whispered, for I had got him safe, and he could 
not escape, ' I know why you wanted me to go; and I like 
them all, but I like your Violet best.’ 

'Hush!’ he said, flushing up to his forehead, and looking 
more bashful than I ever saw Jem look before. 'She is not 
my Violet ytA; I wish she were; but I mean to do everything 
in my power to get her. Do you think — do you think — I 
shall have any chance by-and-by ? ’ But I need not repeat 


446 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST.- 

my answer, or the long talk that followed, and that lasted all 
the way to Brookfield. 

It was quite late — nearly ten — when we walked out of the 
station; but my flowers were still quite fresh. As v/e came 
near Fircroft a tall figure loomed in view. It was Mr. Basil 
smoking his cigar under the trees; he seemed on the look-out 
for us. 

^Are you quite done up. Miss Leigh he asked at once. 
^ I thought I would take a stroll in this direction; I knew 
you would be late. So you have not thrown away the flowers 
yet?^ 

‘ We have had a first-rate day,’ returned Jem volubly. ‘ Olga 
has behaved like a brick. She has not given in, but I should 
think she has had just enough of it. Don’t let us keep you 
standing out here, Olga. I shall just smoke a pipe with 
Lyndhurst before I turn in.’ 

^Very well,’ I returned, obeying this hint; but Mr. Basil 
followed me inside the gate to ask if I were not very, very tired. 

^My mother hopes to see you to-morrow,’ he said; ‘but I 
shall tell her not to expect you too early.’ And then ho asked 
me for a little piece of heliotrope, and of course I could not 
refuse him. 

Oh, how tired I was I When Hubert saw my face, ho would 
not let me speak a word. 

^ The Squire has been here, and has told me all about it,’ 
he said. ‘ Go to bed, you poor child I and have a good long 
sleep.’ 

But, after all, I was not too tired to put my flowers in 
water, or to think of Aunt Catherine as I laid my head on 
the pillow; and I was not nearly so unhappy as I expected to 
^be — every one was so kind ! 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

A new-year’s gift. 

' I love you the better since your perplexities have become known 
td me.’ *St. RonarCs WelV 

* Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 

Forgive, be generous, and depart.’ 

Eady of the Lake.* 

There is little to record of the weeks that followed Aunt 
Catherine’s marriage. I missed her — ah, how I missed her! 
— but I tried to act up to the spirit of her parting words, and 


A YEAH^S GIFTS 


447 


there was no time to fret. Jem stayed with us. until thei 
second week in October, and while Le was in the house I 
could not call a moment my own. He followed me upstairs 
and down; he took me for long Valks. and day after day I 
had to listen to his plans— his projects — for winning this 
pearl among girls — Violet Campbell. I used to envy him as 
he talked. I thought whaf a fine thing it must be to be a 
man — ^young, at the very beginning of life — ^^and to know ex- 
actly what one wanted. Jem knew what he wanted, and* he 
intended to have it, too; as far as his modesty Allowed, he 
had not a doubt on the subject; neither had I, for how could 
Violet refuse him? Of course he must work for her; he* 
must leave Oxford, and begin to eat hlz dinners before he 
ventured to talk of aii engagement; but he had a little money 
of his own, and Violet w^ould have a little, too ; and perhaps 
for a year or two they might manage. This was how we talked 
—as though a strugglingj briefless barrister were one of the 
enchanted knights of old, and could hew his way through all 
obstacles. When Jem was gone, I devoted myself to Hubert, 
and I was often with Mrs. Lyndhurst. Now and then I saw 
Mr. Basil — ^not at the Hall; he was never there in the after- 
noon — but occasionally he would come across to Fircroft for 
a chat with Hubert, or to carry him off on some business 
connected with the intended church at Braidley. My red- 
letter days were the days when a letter with the Leeds post 
mark lay on the breakfast-table. There was no need for Aunt 
Catherine to tell me that she was happy. Every word, every 
sentence, breathed a fulness of content. From the very first 
she had thrown herself into her husband^s work; she was 
leading his life. It was ^ our people,^ ‘ our church,’ o.ur every- 
thing. Mr. Basil, v/ho had paid them a three days’ visit early 
in November, told me that Aunt Catherine was. perfectly in 
her element. 

‘ She is just the same,’ he said, with a smile ; ^she is as sat- 
isfied with her Vicarage as though it Were a palace. Some- 
how it looks better than it used to look. She has the knack 
of making any place comfortable and home-like. The poor 
people are beginning to adore her as' they do Mr. Fleming. 
As for him,’ with an eloquent pause, ^ he is content personi- 
fied.’ 

Just before Advent Aunt Catherine came up for a brief 
visit to the Hall — a clergyman’s week, they called it. Mr. 
Fleming w^as with her. I do not think she could have brought 
herself to leave him so soon ; indeed, she told me that he 
never liked her to be absent for an hour. 


445 Tim ^MARCH FOR BASIL LYNBIIURST. 


‘ I am afraid we are a foolish old couple/ she added, laugh- 
ing; ^ but I have got my master now, and, indeed, I should* 
uot like to leave Eobert; he has been alone too long already/ 

It was happiness enough for me to know that Aunt ‘Cath- 
erine was at the Hall, and to have some of our long talks, but 
there was something better still in store for me, for actually 
she took me back with her for a we^k. 

‘ I think Olga has earned a week^s holiday,^ she said to 
Hubert; ^she has been working very hard, and young people 
sometimes need a change. I want her to see our Yicarage. 
My husband says I have made it so pretty, and then she will 
be able to picture the Leeds Darby and Joan;^^*' and of 
course she talked Hubert round to her opinion in a moment; 
indeed, she made him promise to come and fetch me back. 

That week was one of the happiest I ever spent in my life. 
I was with Aunt Catherine from morning to night ; she took 
me with her to her mothers^ meetings, to her district, even to 
her Bible-class; and in spite of ail her varied duties, she 
found plenty of leisure to talk to ine. 

‘ Well, Olga, are you satisfied about me she asked the last 
evening as we sat together in her pretty drawing-room wait- 
ing for Mr. Fleming’s return from some parish meeting. 
‘ Do you own now that I have nothing, to regret, that I have 
found my right place ? ’ 

^ Yes/ I returned in a low voice, for the door was open, and 
Hubert was writing letters in the study. ^For myself, I do 
not like Lec/ds; I prefer Brookfield; but, after all, the town 
does not matter. The church is nice, aud you have made 
your house so lovely. Your life is full of work, but I know 
you would not have it otherwise, and it is work you love.’ 

‘ I love it ail,’ she said simply. ^ I think if they made 
Robert a bishop I should break my heart; I am prouder of 
being his wife — the wife of the Vicar of St* Mark’s — than I 
should be if he were Archbishop of Canterbury. My life is 
perfect, Olga, and he has made it so; ’ and then she rose and 
went to the door as she heard his key in the lock, for early 
and late she was always ready to meet him — never too busy 
— too much absorbed to put down her work or book — to 
listen to what ho had to say. Ah, no wonder she was happy, 
for, as ^ar as a good man may, he worshipped her. 

Our Christmas was a sad one; it was painful to see Hubert 
struggling to do his duty to all of us, and hardly able to sum- 
mon up a smile when his children crowded round him with 
their little gifts. Happily, Christmas Day fell on a Sunday, 
and we could keep it quietly, and Hubert was in church most 


t 


A r^AB'S GIFT, 


449 


of the day. The children had their dessert in the nursery, 
and Reggie joined them; and I think in their own little way 
they were as happy as possible, though I could see Mab was 
thinking a good deal about her mother. 

Harry had left us on Christmas Eve, and we all missed him 
excessively. He went away in very bad spirits, poor fellow ! 
after solemnly assuring me that his own home' was less dear 
to him than Eircroft. I am sorry to say he put the same 
question to me again, and asked if I could give him the 
faintest hope. My answer was too decided to leave him a 
moment^s doubt. I was fond of him, but it was the fondness 
of a sister to a younger brother. I told him so frankly, and 
that ended it. I do not know how Jem found it out; I am 
half afraid poor Harry took him into confidence, but he came 
to me when Harry had driven away from the door, and said- 
very kindly that I must not trouble myself. Harry was a 
good fellow, but he was not good enough for that, and of 
course I had done the right thing. 

‘Hefil get OY6r it after a time,^ he went on; ^ bless you! I 
lir-ve had these sort of attacks myself — well, perhaps not so 
badly, for I never proposed to a girl in my life ; but Harry is 
young enough to fall in love half a dozen times before he 
settles;^ and Jem patted me on the shoulder in a fatherly 
way and marched oft, feeling that he had eased his conscience 
and done his duty. Really, Jem was a tower of strength to 
me in those days. 

Jem had some visits to make during the Christmas vaca- 
tion, and he was obliged to leave us on Hew Yearns Eve. One 
of those visits was to a college friend living at South Kens- 
ington, and I knew then that he would see Violet frequently. 
His letters were full of her; he had met her at a concert, at 
an afternoon ^ at-home.^ He was going to join them at the 
Albert Hall. They had asked him for a night or two to 
Addison Road; thev were going to get up some private 
theatricals. In fact ftem enjoyed his vacation to the full ; his 
one regret was that I could not share his pleasure. Violet was 
so anxious to know more of me, he said, and Mrs. Campbell 
v^as always asking him to bring me again to see her. 

^ They say you are charming, Olga,^ he wrote. * I wonder if 
that is a bit of blarney just to please your humble servant; 
but I suppose a brother is no judge — anyhow, you are a dear 
little soul, and I am always 

^ Yours most affectionately, 

^ Jem/ 


^9 


450 THE SEARCH FOR RA8IL LYNDIIUR^T. 

]^ew Yearns Day was ushered in by a long letter from Auni 
Catherine, and a very pretty, indeed costly, present from Mrs. 
Lyndhurst — a little workcase, beautifully fitted up, and, in- 
deed, far more fit for the use oi a young princess than for 
Olga Leigh. I ran across to thank her, and to lecture her 
on her extravagance. She heard me good-humoredly : 

^ Catherine told me that you wanted a new workcase when 
she was here in November. I hope it is quite to your taste, 
for I could not choose it myself, and people are apt to make 
mistakes.^ 

I assured her it was lovely, only far loo good for me. I 
longed to ask her who had selected it, but I had not the 
courage at the moment, and she began to talk about some- 
thing else. She wanted me to put a fresh wreath on Aline^s 
grave. 

I generally went about once a week, with Mab and Jessie, 
to arrange fresh flowers or evergreens on Kitty^s grave, and 
we always visited Aline’s; it seemed a sort of, weekly treat to 
the children; even Willie would plead to go. * ^It is my turn 
to go to. mother!^ he would say. ^And mine, too,^ Girlie-ga 
would chime in; ^Fm mother’s dirl, too.’ It was wonderful 
how much we found to do, how busy the children would be. 
Sometimes they brought their little watering-pots, or planned 
what flowers they would plant for the summer ; they would 
hush their little voices as they talked, as though they feared 
to wake that tender mother* 

On this morning I went alone v/ith Mrs. Lyndhurst’s flowers 
in my hands, but I saw somebody had been before me; a 
lovely wreath lay on the marble step of the cross. Perhaps 
Mr. Basil had had it placed there. To my surprise a similar 
one was on Kitty’s. 

I questioned Hubert on my return ; he knew nothing about 
it. But, on my telling the children, Hugh interrupted me; 
he had seen Marsden go into the churchyard, and shj3 seemed 
carrying something very carefully; and then the Squire had 
joined her, and they had gone down the Httle path together. 

I was sitting alone that afternoon; the children had all 
gone to a neighbor’s, and Hubert was busy in his parish. The 
house felt very still and empty. Jane had lighted the lamp 
and drawn down the blinds, and had just placed the little 
tea-table beside me, when there was a ring at the door-bell, 
and the next moment Mr. Basil entered, bringing a rush of 
cold air with him. 

^ Are you quite alone ? ’ he said, with evident surprise. 

' 'Yhere’s the Vicar? Shall I huat him out of the study for you?’ 


NEW YEARS GIFT, 


451 


I informed him that Hubert would ' not be home for an 
hour or two. 

^ Ah! and Jem has gone, and there is no Mr. Vivian; still, 
you ought not to be left alone on Hew Yearns Day. ^ Why 
does not Mab or Jessie come down to you 

‘They are all out; there is not a child in the house. It is 
Elsie Broderick^s birthday, and they are spending the after- 
noon there — even Girlie-ga has gone.\ ^ 

‘And they have left you alone — what a' shame! If mj'' 
mother had known that, she would have invited you up there. 
I don’t like to see you sitting by yourself on Hew Year’s 
evening.’ 

‘ Oh, I have Kollo ! ’ I answered lightly, as I gave him a cup' 
of tea and offered him the hot buttered cake for which Cook 
was celebrated. I was not going to own how dull I had ielt,* 
and how pleased I had been to hear his ring; and even he 
had not wished me a ‘Happy Hew Year.’ 1 saw^his eyes 
resting on my workease. 

‘Do you like it?’ he said rather eagerly^ ‘Was it what 
you wanted ? Do you think it will be useful to you r 

‘ Very useful, only I am half afraid to open it. It is far too; 
beautiful for use ! ’ 

‘Honsense! you must never use anything else!’ 

And then, as he had finished his tea, he gave me a descrip- 
tion of a Hew Year’s Day he had once spent with a friend in 
Paris, and how they had driven about from one house to an- 
other. His friend was a Frenchman> and he told me how this 
man had nearly ruined himself in bouquets and cadeaux of all 
descriptions. 

‘That was my mother’s present,’ he said by-and-by, as he 
crossed the rug to examine the workease again. ‘ You must 
have your initials engraved on it. I told the man there was' 
no time.’ 8o Mr. Basil must have chosen it that day he went 
to town. He seemed to think he had made a slip, for ho put 
it down hurriedly : ‘ Every one gives you presents — nly mother. 
Aunt Catherine, even Reggie— only I am not permitted t.o 
offer anything.’ 

‘ Oh, gentlemen do not make* presents,’ I returned, some- 
what confused by his manner. 

‘ Only under certain circumstances,’ speaking rather gravely; 
then, very earnestly and persuasively : ‘ I do want to give you 
something; I have wanted it for a long time. May I tell you 
what it is ? There is only one thing that I can offer yon, 
though I doxibt whether you will think it worthy of ^ur 


452 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LTHBHURST, 

acceptance; but it is yours already Olga, and I think you 
know it/ 

His look left me in no doubt of his meaning, and he had 
taken my hand very gently as he spoke. I tried to draw it 
away. I tried to answer him, but I could only tremble and 
blush — ^he had taken me so by surprise; but he was right. In 
my heart, though I would have died rather than have con- 
fessed it, I knew he cared for me. 

My silence seemed to trouble him. 

^Why do you- not speak?’ he said, in rather an agitated 
voice; ‘why do you not answer me ? — Have I startled you ? — 
surely not, You must have seen all this time how fond I 
have been of you; only it would not have been right to speak 
before/ 

‘No, of course not;’ but I did not dire look at him. 

‘ But it is more than a year now, and there is nothing wrong' 
in my speaking to you this evening. Would you rather have 
hM me wait a little longer — does your silence mean that?’ 
stooping over me and taking my other hand. 

‘ No, no/ I returned desperately, for he was compelling me 
to speak, and I knew, difficult as it was to tell him, that it 
was better to say the truth at once ; ‘ there is nothing wrong 
in speaking to me like this, but I -wish — I wish you had not 
spoken, when I cannot — when I am not able to take what you 
offer me/ I felt him start; he dropped, my hands, and the 
next moment he asked me in quiet a different voice to look 
at him. He spoke so quietly that I did so at once. ‘ I am so 
sorry/ I faltered; ‘you must know how sorry I am/ 

His only answer was to put aside the little tea-table and 
draw up a chair beside me. I think he felt his great height 
a disadvantage. Then he said more calmly: 

‘ I knew I should read the truth in your face, but your 
words were a little ambiguous. If you are sorry, why are yoi; 
trying to refuse me ? for you are trying, are you not ? ’ 

‘ Because I must,’ I returned> almost in despair. ‘ Oh, Mr. 
Basil, you ought not to have asked me ! How am I to think 
of such things with Hubert and the children ? ’ 

‘Is that your only reason against it?’ he asked very 
quickly. 

‘ Yes, of course; ’ but I did not in the least understand- hoW 
much I was admitting -until his next words told me. 

‘Thank you, darling; that is all I want to know. I was 
afraid for the moment whether I had made a mistake, and if 
you really care; but I know how true you are: now lean 
listen more comfortably. I want you to tell me, Olga, exactly 


A YBAJVJS GIFT. 453 

how you feel about things, just as though — as though I were 
Jem/ 

I was a little too shy to speak at first, but he was so gentle 
and patient with me. I remember he asked me whether I 
minded him being a widower, whether I thought he was to 
be trusted now, and whether I did not care more for Reggie 
than for him. I suppose my answers on these points satisfied 
him, for he begged me again not to think of his feelings; 
that he was putting himself and his love for me out of the 
question ; that he vranted to know what I felt, and to help me 
as much as possible. And then I did talk to him; and when 
I began the words came quite easily. 

I told him everything, even about my talks with Kitty, and 
how she hoped I should stay some time with Hubert and the 
children. 

^ Did she mention any period of time ? ’ he asked anxiously, 
and when I returned, ‘ She only said a year or two,^ he smiled 
and looked relieved. 

But he looked grave again when I spoke of Hubert’s lone- 
liness, and asked him how I could leave him in this bi^ house 
with only the little girls to take care of him. Then I re- 
peated Aunt Catherine’s words the night before she left the 
Hall. ^She said she was leaving me. happily because I was in 
the path of duty, and she did not wish me to disquiet myself; ’ 
and then I told him what she had said about standing still 
until the way opened. 

I never could have believed that he would have listened so 
quietly. I felt I could have told him anything. I was talk- 
ing as freely to him as I did to Jem, and he was so anxious to 
put me at my case, that he hardly seemed to think of himself. 
If I had not cared for him before, I must have cared that 
evening. 

When I had quite finished, he said it Was his turn now, and 
then I found that he was not quite convinced, and that he 
wanted to refer the matter to Hubert. 

^ It is not as though I were asking you to leave Brookfield,’ 
he urged ; ^ the Hall is so* close, you can be here every day, 
and half the day, if you will. You can bo mistress of the 
Hall and Fircroft too ; ’ but I would not let him go on — the 
thing was impossible. I could not do my duty to him and to 
Hubert too; we must just go on as we were until I saw my 
Way more plainly, He must not speak to Hubert ; Kitty had 
not been dead quite a year yet, and I could not have him 
Worried. 

But you do not think of me,’ he complained. ^ I wish I 


454 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNBHURST. 

could feel you cared for me half as much as I do for you. 
You do not know what you are to me, Olga;^ and then he 
implored me to be engaged to him; he would wait a year — two, 
even three — if he were only sure of me; hut It would not 
listen, 

^ You are sure of me,^ I said, in a low voice so that he had 
some difficulty in hearing me, but I think he heard. ‘ I could 
never care for any one else.^ 

Then you do love me a little ? ' 

^ Yes, yes;^ but I would not look at him, for I was anxious 
to have it properly settled, and he must not know for a long 
time how ‘much I really cared for him. It was breaking my 
heart to send him away from me; indeed, the strain was tell- 
ing on me visibly. He saw it at last. 

‘ I have made you look quite pale — I am tiring you out I ’ he 
feaid, a little remorsefully. * Olga! why are you so obdurate ? 
why will you not be convinced ? You are raising all these 
difficulties and you will not let me help you to surmount 
them; how are we to go on like this — just caring for each 
other ? If there is no engagement, I shall have to go away.’ 

‘ If we were engaged, Hubert must know, and J em, and 
every one; and then people would expect other things!’ for 
1 CQuld not explain myself more clearly. 

He laughed a little at that, but owned I might be right. 

^ Mr. Leigh would know, of course,’ he said thoughtfully. 

^Yes; and then he would trouble himself about it. Mr. 
Basil, please do not say any more — you must see I am right ! 
If you would only go away now, and try to forget you have 
spoken ? ’ ■ 

^ That is so likely! ’ he returned rather dryly. ^ Olga, how 
dreadfully firm you can be! Well, I will go, because you are 
looking so pale and tired; but you must say something nice 
to me first — tell me you are not really sorry about this!’ 

^ Ho I am not sorry in the way you mean.’ 

His face brightened. 

^ Well, I will go home, and think what is best to be done — 
what is best for you as well as for- me’ — pressing my hand. 
^ You have given me the right to say that by owning that you 
care for me a little ! ’ He looked round the room, and then 
at me — a long, wistful look that touched me inexpressibly. 
^It is hard to leave you, but I must go — God bless you, dear!’ 
and then he went. 

I went up to my room at once — nurse had lighted the fire 
— and I flung myself down on the rug, and buried my face in 
the cushions of my easy-chair, I had restrained my tears 


THERE AHYTHim YOU HA VE TO TELL ME? 455 


•with difficulty ; now they could have their -vent. Basil loved' 
me, and I had sent him away — was there any wonder I should 
be unhappy ? All the scales were fallen from my eyes now. 
I knew that he was dearer to me than anything in life^ and 
yet I had sent him away ! 


CHAPTER X'LVIL 

^IS THERE ANYTHIITG YOU HAVE TO TELL ME?^ 

* Be sure of this — 

What can I help thee to, t^iou shalt not miss.’ 

^AlVs Well that Ends Well: 

*A friend is some one who can finish your sentences for 3’^^ou.** 

Anon. 

Hubert came in, and then the children. I could hear their 
voices chattering to nurse on the stairs. I jumped up and 
bathed my eyes, and then went into the schoolroom to bid 
them ^ Good-night^ and hear their account of the evening. I 
found them examining their little gifts, for there had been a 
Christmas-tree; they were eager to show me everything, and 
tell me how much they had enjoyed themselves. ' 

^Hugh has a box of chocolate; but he is keeping it for 
father. Father always used to eat mother’s chocolate-drops 
— don’t you remember, Jessie? And these sWeets are all for 
you, Aunt Olga, because you have been all by yourself this 
afternoon ;’ and Mab pressed her cheek affectionately against 
my shoulder. 

‘Elsie is such a pretty little girl,’ observed Jessie; ‘and 
Mrs. Broderick has a nice trustable face. What do you think 
she said to us, auntie ? She kissed us half a dozen times, and 
called us poor little darlings, because we had crape on our 
best frocks, and because mother has gone to heaven.’ 

‘She kissed me, too,’ put in Willie, with his mouth full of 
sweets. 

Girlie-ga had been carried off rather cross and fractious. 

‘ Yes, and Mab told her that we were not so poor as some 
little girls we knew, because we had father and- you. Aunt 
Olga, to take care of us. And Mrs. Broderick said:, “Ah, 
my dear, but you may not always have your aunt, she. is 

young, and ” and then some one said “ Hush ! ” and she 

stopped. What did she mean, auntie ? ’ • 

‘ Auntie isn’t never going to leave us ! ’ interposed Wilfred, 
with a sticky hug. 


466 ' THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

* Not until I grow up, and can give cook the orders/ re- 
turned Mab firmly; and then they all chimed in. 
i Oh, how my heart ached to hear themi I It was a relief 
when the gong sounded for me to go down to dinner. 

Hubert looked white and jaded; he scarcely spoke a word 
all dinner-time, and as soon as it was over he went into the 
study. I asked if I should bring my work and sit with him, 
but he shook his head. When Jane took him in his coffee 
she found him fast asleep. I was happier jn my mind when 
she told me that, for I knew he would sleep heavily until bed- 
time ; he had walked too far, and had exhausted himself, but 
in the old days Hubert had never been so tired. 

I had food enough for my thoughts. I did not attempt to 
check them; they had travelled back strangely to St. Croix 
— to. La Maisonnette. I was in the little grove; Eeggie was 
swinging in the hammock; a tall figure, in a little gray cap, 
with a free, easy gait, was striding down the path. I can 
hear the click of the gate,, even the ^ Miss Leigh ^ pronounced 
in the clear decided voice; but it was not the stranger of the 
pavilion — it was the young Squire, the master of Brookfield 
iHall, who had been with me this afternoon. 

Could it be possible that Basil Lyndhurst — one of the 
Sef tons— had asked me to be his wife ? What would Aunt 
Catherine say ? And Eeggie — but I must not think of Eeg- 
gie. I must not even -think of Basil : the hardest part was 
over ; I had sent him away, and now I must just go on living 
my life. I tried to look it in the face, to be reasonable, 
could I not be happy, feeling so sure of his love? He would be 
near me; I should see him sometimes; we should be friends; 
and in my heart I should always know what he felt for me I 

My answer to this was plain : I could be happy if only he 
would be satisfied; but I knew his nature too well-;— patience 
was not his forte. Life and trouble had not disciplined him; 
before long I knew he. would chafe against my restrictions; 
■perhaps . he would be angry and go away. 

It was the fear of this that was making me miserable— the 
fear that my influence would not be sufficient. Tenderly as 
he loved me, much as he reverenced me, his will was a strong 
one, and might rise up against my girlish decision. The very 
tone in which he had said, ^ I must think what is best for you 
as well as for me/ showed me that he was by no means sub- 
servient to my opinion. His orjj anxiety had been to learn 
my feelings toward himself; the rest had seemed of little 
con'sequence. 

How I wished I could have brought him round to my opiu- 


‘ m THERE ANYTHING YOU HA VE TO TELL MET 467 


ion! I had wanted him- so much to agree with me, if he 
would only spare me any conflict of wills; but I had been^fio 
shy in letcing him know my feelings, that perhaps he .did not 
realize how hard it would be for me to fight against him. I 
did so long to make him happy;, he had suffered so cruelly, 
and I could give him just what he wanted; but no, I must 
not think of that. ^ It was Hubert, not Basil, who was my 
duty — not. Basil! not Basil I ^ I repeated, with tears. 

I passed a restless night, and woke unrefreshed. When 
Hubert met me at breakfast he asked me if I had a headache, 
but I answered evasively. I had not mentioned Mr. Basil^s 
visit; I felt I could not utter his name. It was snowing 
heavily, and Eeggie did not cojne to me as usual. I sat in 
the nursery all the morning, working at the sewing-macliine. 
The weather would afford me a good excuse for not going to 
the Hall; I felt under any circumstances I could not have 
gone. I kept the children with me all the afternoon. Mr. 
Montague dined with us; but I have not the faintest rccel- 
lection what he and Hubert talked about. Only once I saw 
Hubert looking at me through his spectacles, as though he 
wondered why I was so silent. Mr. Montague left us directly 
dinner was over — he had an evening engagement in the village 
— ^and then Hubert proposed of his own accord that I should 
accommny him to the study. He drew up the low chair 
himself to the fire; it was Kitty^s, and her little standing 
workbasket was near it, with one of Wilfred^s unfinished shirts 
in it, and the gold thimble Hubert had given her. 

• ‘ Sit there, my dear/ he said, in his kind, sad voice. And 
as he lighted his readingdamp, and adjusted the green shade 
that he always used, he continued : ‘ So Lyndhurst was here 
yesterday ? I do not remember your mentioning it, Olga.^ 

I was so startled that I nearly upset my little work-case. 

You were so tired last night,’ I stammered. ^ !^ve you^ — 
have you seen him this afternoon ? ’ 

^Ho; only his stick is in the hall; 'and I asked Jane,, and 
she said he had tea here in the afternoon. I suppose he 
waited to see Ine I know he wanted those plans feoystoii 
drew up. I almost think I had better send them across this 
bvening, if it has left off snowing. I suppose Jane or Martha 
could go?’ 

^ Certainly/if you wish it; ’ but just as he was drawing aside 
the curtain to look out, the hall-bell sounded, and after a 
moment’s suspense-— for Hubert never encouraged evening 
visitors — the door opened, and Mr. Basil walked in. 

He had thrown off his ulster, and was in evening dress, as 


458 TUB SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 

he had just risen from the dinner-table. I was so surprised 
to see him, for he had never come so late before — so pleased, 
so overwhelmed with confusion altogether, that I found it 
impossible to meet him as usual; and I could only hope that 
Hubert did not notice my silence and my burning cheeks. 
Happily, Mr. Basil spared me as much as possible, for he 
shook hands hastily, and at once engaged Hubert in talk — in 
fact, he had never been more fluent. Hubert could not get 
in a word at all. He apologized for coming so late, but he 
had been at Braldley all th© afternoon in spite of the snow; 
and he had seen Eoyston, and now he wanted to Ipoh at the 
plans. 

‘ I need not trouble to look over them here,^ he went on; 
* I will just carry them across with me, and go through theuri 
on Monday morning;^ and, after a little more talk, Hubert 
said they were upstairs in his dressing-room, and that he 
would fetch them. Another time I should have offered to 
save him the trouble, but I was actually too shy to open my 
lips. 

The moment he had left the room Mr. Basil came to my 
side. 

^Ho put down your work for a momenV he pleaded. 
^ Why do you seem afraid of me to-night ? Was it wrong to 
come? I give you my word, I was obliged to furbish up 
these old plans as an excuse. 1 could not keep away; I was 
just pining for a sight of you..^ 

^And I for you,^ I could have said with truth, for it was 
such a delight to see him there. I had been making myself 
BO miserable aU day, thinking that he was hurt at my sending 
him away — that he had not understood what it cost me; but 
I was obliged to confess to myself that he seemed as usual — 
not at all depressed; he looked handsome and eager. As ho 
spoke he put his hands .forcibly on my work. 

‘ 1 do not think you ought to have come,^ was all I could 
bring myself to say; but I suppose my face belied my words, 
for he looked as happy as possible. 

‘ But you are pleased to see me — ^you know you are pleased 
to see me,^ in a coaxing voice ; ^ and you look ever so much 
better than you did last night. Olga, you do not know how 
restless I have been all day; it will not answer at all. You 



reconsider your decision. I must 


talk to Aunt Catherine and Mr. Leigh. Your friends must 
not allow you to sacrifice yourself, if it be a sacrifice,^ stoop- 
'ing over me a little closer. 

^ Oh, please— please do not say any more to-night ! I wliis- 


THERE ANYTHING YOU HAVE TO TELL MEf 459 

pered. Hubert will be here directly; be will guess, ^nd then 
everything will go wrong;' but he did not take the hint 
quickly enough, for he was still standing close to me when Hu- 
bert returned with the plans — only I had got possession of my 
work, and the shades of silk were difficult to match by lamp- 
light, so perhaps he thought Mr. Basil had been helping me, 
for he apparently took no notice. 

Cofiee was sent in after this, and Mr. Basil stayed some 
time. I tried to take my part in the conversation, to appear 
at my ease, but my changing color and short, breathless sen- 
tences betrayed my nervousness. How was I to talk to Mr. 
Basil with the old friendliness? In his new character he 
confused me, and yet I thought none became* him So well. 
Xo girl had ever had such a lover. I am sure he went away 
at l^t because he saw how it was with me. Hubert went to 
the door with him. 

^ It is a rough night, Lyndhurst,' I heard him say as they 
shook hands. 

I was folding up my work when Hubert came back to me; 
he looked thoughtful and preoccupied; but as I bade him 
good-night, he asked me to stay a little longer, and I sat down 
again rductantiy. He did not mqnire, as usual, if I were tired. 

^ds there anything you have to say to me, Olga ? ' he asked 
so pointedly that I stared at him in dismay. 

^ No; nothing, thank you,' I returned in a veiw small voice. 

^Nothing that I ought to know, that you would tell Jem if 
he were here.^ 

’ '** "lushing to my finger-ends. The idea of 



‘ You must forgive me if i am a little clumsy, my dear,' he ! 
went on in the kindest voice; ^but I cannot forget how young 
3 " 0 u are, and you have no mother, and no sister now to advise 
you ' — of course he was thinking ^ and Jem is young 

too; so, perhaps, I should really be able to help you best if 
you could only bring yourself to <5onfide in me. Do, my dear, 
for I feel a little anxious about you.' 

About me, Hubert ? ' 

'Yes. Hasn't the Squire been making love to you ? I am 
sure 1 beg your pardon, Olga, if I am making a mistake; but 
from his manner and yours it was impossible not to suspect 
something of the kind ; and as your guardian I have a rifirht 
to know such matters.' 

Hubert was speaking with mild dignity, but he was regard- 
ing me affectionately. There was no escape for me now. 
Mr. Basil's boyish impatience had frustrated my plans. If 


460 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYHDHURST. 


Hubert knew our little secret, there would be a complication. 
I was angry with myself for my absurd shyness. If I had 
only laughed and talked as usual, Hubert would never have 
suspected anything. 

I never knew how kind Hubert could be; he drew the 
truth from me in the gentlest manner. He even made me 
confess that I was by no means indifferent to the young 
Cquire; that if things had been otherwise I should have given 
him another answer. 

‘ It is a very good match/ he said thoughtfully. ^ How 
pleased old Jem will be! he has quite changed his opinion of 
Lyndhurst. He thinks him a fine fellow now; so do I. My 
dear little sister, nothing could be better; you must be en- 
gaged to him at once.^ 

The quiet, matter-of-fact way in which Hubert spoke almost 
took my breath away, but I managed to stammer out the words : 

^Impossible! how could I leave those poor children 

He looked very grave at that, but his manner did not alter. 

^ Don’t, my dear/ for the tears were in my eyes now; Met 
us have a little talk together. Draw your chair closer to me, 
and let me see your face. ^ I want to tell you something. My 
poor darling spoke to me on this very subject,’ 

^ Oh no, Hubert ! ’ in a shocked voice, for Aline had not 
been dead two months then. 

^ She did not mention names, but, all the same, I am sure 
Lyndhurst was in her mind. Kitty was so clever; she saw 
things sooner than other people. Most likely it occurred to 
her as a possibility. Olga is sure to marry,” she said to me 
one night when we had been talking of the children. 
shall be glad if she will stop with you for a year or two.” 
And then she made me promise that I would* hot allow you 
to sacrifice yourself for the children.’ 

Dear Kitty ! that was so like her, and she had said the same 
thing to me. 

‘ Olga is so generous that she will not think of herself or 
her own happiness; when the time comes you must think for 
her, Hubert ” — those were her very words. " She will have no 
one but you and Jem to help her; you must do your best for 
her, as though she were Mab.” Olga, I am going to do my 
very best for you. How old are you, my dear ? ’ 

■ But I would not answer him; I must have my say too. I 
put my arms round his neck for the second tiipe in my life, 
and hid my face on his shoulder, and implored him, with 
sobs, to listen to me. I told him that I could not leave him 
and the children, not even for Basil’s sake; that though I 


‘XSf THERE ANYTIUKG YOU HA VE TO TELL IIEP 461 

loved him — I loved him dearly — I could not be happy in ne* 
glecting my duty; this, and much more, in broken, incoherent 
sentences. 

He was very much touched, and had to take off his specta- 
cles to wipe them. 

‘ Thank you, thank you, my dear,’ he kept saying in a husky 
voice ; but when I was a little calmer he asked me again how 
old I was. 

shall he one-and-twenty next June,’ was my answer. 

‘ Kitty was . younger than that,’ he sighed ; ‘ but there is 
plenty of time, Olga; you must not fret so. I am not ask- 
ing you to leave us now; no, my dear, I could not spare you 
lust yet. But we must think of Lyndhurst; I will talk to 
him and find out his wishes. If .he would not think fifteen 
months too long for an engagement, you could marry him on 
your twenty-second birthday. You would have helped me 
for more than two years then, and by that time I shall b6 
able to arrange sotnething.’ 

‘But Hubert, the children ’ but he would not let me 

go on. 

‘ They are my children, not yours,’ with a smile; ‘the mat- 
ter is not so difficult as you suppose. Things are changed. 
I have no pupils, and Montague helps me with the parish. I 
have more time to give to the children, and you forget what 
a treasure we have in nurse; and then,’ patting my hand in 
an encouraging way, ^ the Hall is only a few hundred yards 
off; you -could still supervise Fircroft, and see to the little 
girls’ frocks, for I could not undertake that department. We 
should see you every day, and by-and-by my Mab — God bless 
her! — will be able to look after her sisters and brothers; she 
is quite a little woman now in her way. I never saw a child 
of ten so thoughtful before.’ 

I argued a little more with Hubert. It seemed to me as 
though that night I were ' fighting against my love for Basil, 
and the knowledge of my forthcoming happiness; but I found 
Hubert mildly inexorable : he would not listen to me for a 
moment. My grand plans for martyrdom were all put aside 
with fine masculine scorn. 

‘We have Lyndhurst to consider,’ he kept saying;^ ‘you 
have treated us both badly. I am your legal guardian, and 
have a right to know all your affairs, and you left me in the 
dark about the Squire’s offer.’ 

I felt a sudden qualm as he said this; ne had never gnessed 
at Harry’s attachment, and would have been much shocked 
to 'hear that his favorite pupil had made me two offers. A 


462 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


guilty color suffused* my face as I remembered poor Harry; 
but his secret was safe with me. Jem knew it, but he would 
never betray Harry to Hubert. 

think you the luckiest girl in the world/ he continued; 
^ think of being mistress of that fine old place ! Who w’ould 
have guessed that our little Olga would have won our young 
Squire ? ’ 

And then he looked at liie rather critically, as though to 
find out where the attraction lay, and I thought of Jem’s 
brotherly critique. 

' He is a wise man/ he went on after a scarcely perceptible 
pause. ‘ He has had enough pf beauty with his first wife; 'he 
wants something better now;’ and then he took my face be- 
tween his hands and kissed it. ^ Go to bed now, my dear, for 
we have said enough for. to-night. I have quite forgotten 
that it is Saturday, and I have to look over my sermon for to- 
morrow, and it is past eleven now.’ 

^ Oh, Hubert, I am so sorry to have kept you ! ^ ana then I 
left him. 

What had become of my unhappiness ? Why^ould I not 
be sorry that all this had happened — that Hubert had discov- 
ered our secret ? But I could be sorry for nothing. I could 
only think of Basil — how he had looked, and what he had said 
that evening; and how his presence had glorified Hubert’s 
shabby old study, and transformed it into a sort of earthly 
paradise. 

I was glad', that the next day was Sunday. I was sure of 
seeing him in church; and; perhaps, after service, he might 
joiii us in the churchyard. It would be awkward to see him 
with Hubert; but I knew at that time Hubert would be in 
the vestry, and there would be no one but Reggie and the 
children near us, for Mrs. Lyndhurst never came to church 
in the winter. 

He came in late — he was often late — but as he and Reggie 
passed our seat, he half turned and looked at me — a quick, 
searching look. Butll hardly dared raise my eyes again from 
my book all the service. How little he^knew the mischief he 
had done by his visit last night! .Once, and only once, during 
the sermon I ventured to- glance in his direction. His head 
was bent; he was evidently thinking deeply. He looked 
quiet, composed, thoughtful — I wondered if the sermon en- 
gaged his attention. 

Reggie ran after’ us, as usual, in the churchyard, and I 
stooped down and kissed him; and the next moment Mr. 
Basil joined us, and we walked together to the gate. Mab 


‘//8f THERE ANYTHim YOU HA VE TO TELL MET 463 


was on one side of me and Willie the other; Keggie had hold 
of his father’s hand. The children were all chattering, so 
that he could not find an opportunity to say more than a word. 

‘How are you?’ he asked quickly. ‘‘Shall you com.e up to 
the Hall to see my mother ? * 

1 shook my head. 

‘ When may I come again — your brother does not like Sun- 
day visitors, I know — to-morrow ? Oh yes; I must bring those 
plans back to-morrow. Will you give me a cup of tea? — 
Good-morning, Mrs. Broderick ! w'hat severe weather we are 
having! there will be some more snow before night.’ 

Mrs. Broderick and her daughters had joined us. The 
youngest, Cissie, a very pretty girl, was looking at the Squire; 
he could scarcely disengage himself to bid me good-bye. 

‘1 shall try to come to-morrow or Tuesday,’ he said, in a 
low voice. ‘ I must speak to you alone — you will have to give 
way!’ and then he quietly stepped back to Miss Cissie. 

But as I walked on with the children, I determined nothing 
would induce me to see him alone. How was I to tell him 
about my conversation with Hubert ? he had no right to como 
again so soon. He was behaving exactly as though I had ac- 
cepted him. He was not bearing himself in the least like a 
rejected suitor. I began to feel I had not done the thing 
properly. 

I went to church in the evening with Mab, but the Hall seat 
was unoccupied. Most likely Mr. Basil had stayed at home 
to read to his mother. I certainly attended to the service 
better; and Mr. Montague’s sermon was excellent. 


464 THE SEARCH FOR EASJL LYNDHUR8T. 


CHAPTER XLVIIL 

THE WAY OPENS 

‘I heard his deep *'1 will” 

Breathed like the covenant of a god, to hold 
From thence thro’ all the worlds.’ 

* The Gardener’s Daughter* 

‘ O happy world . . . all, meseems, 

Are happy : I the happiest of them all.’ 

Tennyson, 

‘ Oh, but she wdll love him truly ; 

He shall have a cheerful home ; 

She will or^er all things duly. 

When beneath his roof they come.’ 

* The Lord of Burleigh,* 

I had no time to myself the next morning. When I came 
down to breakfast a note was awaiting me from Miss Boyle. 
Her sister had been taken ill on Saturday night with some 
internal inflammation, and Dr. Langham thought very badly 
of her. Hubert said at once that he would go down to Fir 
Cottage to inquire after the invalid, while I gave the children 
their lessons. He brought me a very bad report at luncheon- 
time. Poor Miss Eosina wks dying, and he had found our 
Miss Boyle in great trouble. We had all become v^y much 
attached to her ; she was a worthy, kind-hearted creature, and 
so humble-minded -with all her cleverness. I begged Hubert 
to let me go and offer my services, but he said she had a 
cousin with her, a very nice person, and that I should be only 
in the way. 

^ The greatest comfort I could give Miss Boyle,^ he went on, 
* was in telling her that you would take her place with Mab 
and J essie. I begged her. to be perfectly easy on that point, 
as you and I would manage the lessons between us. Let them 
come to me for their history and arithmetic; it will be such 
a pleasure to teach them something ; ’ and as Mab and J essie 
were charmed with this idea, they went regularly to the study 
for an hour during the three weeks Miss Boyle stayed away, 
and I believe all three were sorry when her return put a stop 
to lessons with their father. 

. As the weather did not permit the little girls to take their 
usual walk with nurse, I sat with them in the school-room all 


THE WAY OPEm. 


‘465 

the afternoon, while they amused themselves making scrap- 
books for the children’s hospital. This was a favorite occu- 
pation for them. I did not venture into the drawing-room 
until I knew Jane had taken in the tea, and then I invited 
the twins to join jne, I could never count on Hubert; and 
if Mr. Basil kept his Word the little girls would hinder any 
private talk. I felt very artful and diplomatic as I went down 
with Mab and Jessie hanging on either arm. They were in 
high spirits, and wanted to know if the drawing-room cake 
were nicer than the school-room one. 

When I am grown up, and give cook orders,’ observed Mab, 

shall always say plum-cake instead of seed; no one but 
Willie likes seedy-cakes. Aunt Olga.’ 

I was beginning to think I had schemed in vain as we drank 
our tea, for no ring at the door-bell announced a visitor. To 
be sure, he said ^to-morrow or Tuesday.’ Never mind, 
Mab and Jessie must be invited again to-morrow; and I tried 
to dismiss the subject from my mind, and to give myself up 
to the children who were in high glee. By-and-by Hubert 
joined us; he looked tired and weary, but brightened up as 
Jessie flew to him, and Mab pushed a heavy armchair closer 
to the fire. 

^ Are you keeping Aunt Olga company, my darlings ? Mab, 
do you think ' you could ponr me out a cup of tea? I want 
Aunt Olga to do something for me. Olga, do you remember 
those papers old Mrs. Steventon gave me about that good-for- 
nothing son of hers ? They were in a thick blue envelope; 
and I know I put them in one of the racks on my writing* 
table. Do you think you could find them, my dear ? ’ 

^ I will look, Hubert. Jessie that cake is cold. There is 
some hot toast on the trivet for father;’ and I went away 
quickly. 

The study-door was half closed. As I pushed it open I 
came face to face with Mr. Basil ! 

^ You have come to look for Mrs. Steventon’s papers ? ’ he 
said coolly. ‘ That’s all right ; but the Vicar does not want 
them for the next hour;’ and then he closed the door and 
the next moment I found myself held fast. ‘ How could you 
have the heart to do it ? ’ be was saying; ^ how could you have 
the heart to send me away, my darling ? ’ 

♦ * ♦ <c ♦ 

I never knew how pertinacious Basil could be; he gave me 
no peace until I had answered his questions. I found to my 
surprise, that his self-distrust was so great, that he thought 
go little of himself, and so much of me, that he could not 
3a 


466 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


bring himself to believe that I eally cared for him ; when I 
found out what he felt I did all I could to satisfy him, and 
he was so grateful to me for my frank confession. 

^ I know I am not worthy (5 you,^ he said humbly, as he 
drew me closer to him ; ^ but you have done much for me 
already, and you, will do more. I always looked up to you 
as a little saint, Olga. Do you remember, dear, that evening 
of our dinner-pary, when my poor Aline disgraced herself ? 
I shall never forget what I felt when you put your arms round 
her, and laid your cheek against hers ! “ Como with me, and 
I will take care of you.^^ Was not that what you said ? Olga, 
it was all I could do not to bless you aloud for your goodness. 
I felt neither Aline nor I was fit to kiss the ground under 
your dear feet.^ 

^ Oh, Basil, do not talk so ! It was no goodness. I loved 
her — I always loved her.^ 

‘ I believe you did; that is why I sent you her ring. DarU 
ing, you will have to wear m'y ring now, for Mr. Leigh — what 
a brick he is ! — thinks that we may as well be engaged at onco.^ 

^ It was all your faulV I began^ but he knew too well to 
let me finish. 

^ What a good thought it was my* fetching those plans 
on Saturday evening! I meant to behave as well as possible; 
but when I saw you change color every minute I knew it was 
all up with our secret. When he had it out with me j^st now, 
I told him that I considered myself engaged. That^s all 
right,” he said, with a laugh; ‘^I will send Olga in, and thcnj 
you can jsettle it.” And we have settled it, haven’t we, dear ? * 

I tried to tell him now about my conversation with Huuert, 
for he was so happy, and in such spirits, that there was no 
keeping him to the point. He kept asking me unnecessary 
questions — how long I had liked him — as though I could pos • 
sibly answer that question; if I really and truly cared '!or him 
more than Jem. 

^ I was always jealous of that fellow,^ he said. 

* Dear Jem I ’ I sighed. 

* Yes; but he does not come first now, or Reggie either.^ 

*No, of course not. Reggie! What an idea! As though 

I should put him before you! Do let me tell you about 
Hubert.* 

^Ho,*he said, with rather a dejected air. *I know what 
you are going to say, and I have heard it already. We are to 
be engaged for fifteen months — until you are two-and-twenty. 
I was obliged to agree to everything, for fear of losing you 
altogether; but * 


THE WAY OPENS. 


467 


I 

^ You think fifteen months — a poor little year and a quarter 
-^too long to wait for me. Mr. Fleming waited eight-and- 
twenty years for Aunt Catherine.’ 

I ought to have known Basil better; he was not likely to 
submit tamely to such a reproof, and I had to listen to a long 
harangue, made with a great deal of energy. He would wait 
for me half his life, ho said, if duty demanded it. He was 
quite sure of me; I was not the girl to tell a fellow she loved 
him and then change her mind, and on that point I had made 
him' quite happy, perfectly happy; but, all the same, ho 
Wanted to marry me as soon as possible. I could not blame 
him for wishing this ; any fellow in his circumstances would 
be as anxious as he was; and he must call my attention to 
one point,' that in his case it was not so much selfishness as 
a clear-sighted thoughtfulness, for other people. Ho was 
afraid that I was not sufficiently alive to his virtues; when 
he said other people, he did not presume to place me amongst 
them, as he was far too painfully convicted that I would agree 
cheerfully to a fifteen years’ engagement. 

^ Oh, Basil ! ■’ in a shocked voice at this point. 

Ho; I must not interrupt him. He was speaking of his 
mother, who was so clearly in need of a daughter, and of 
Reggie, whose infantile years certainly pleaded for maternal 
management. Basil’s face was a study as he completed- this 
audacious speech. 

But I was not to be silenced by any flow of eloquence, and 
‘m spite of many interruptions, I had my say at last. I told 
Basil that he had made me so happy, so very happy, that 
there was no room in my heart for selfishness; that he must 
let me do my duty to Hubert and the children, and not to be 
too exacting, for I loved him so much — yes, I actually told 
him that — that a word from him, even a gesture of impatience, 
would paih me terribly; and when he saw how earnest I was 
he did not tease me any more, and nothing could exceed his 
gentleness. 

* My little sunbeam,’ he said, very tenderly, ^ I cannot have 
you look so grave; don’t you know a word from you is enough ? 
1 quite understand, my dearest, and I promise you that you 
shall never have anything to bear from my impatience.’ 

^ And you will be happy, Basil V ’ 

‘ Perfectly happy and content in waiting for you, do you 
mean ? Yes; a thousand times, yes. From this day we begin 
our new life together, for I shall do nothing without you, 
decide nothing, enjoy nothing. I shall see you every day; I 


468 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST 


shall bo here as much as possible. Olga, can that possibly be 
the dressing-bell ? ^ 

I looked at the clock in dismay — half-past six — and we had 
been talking for an hour and a half. Basil looked amused at 
my horrified expression, and suggested that we should go in 
search of Hubert. We found him quietly reading by the fire. 
The little girls had gone Upstairs. He looked up with a 
smile as we entered. 

^Have you brought me the papers, Olga?^ he asked, and 
then he opened his arms to me. 

Oh, how dear and good Hubert was to us both that night ! 
He would not let Basil leave us; and, indeed, as he whispered 
to me afterward, he had no intention of going; and when 
dinner was over, he talked to us in so kind and fatherly a 
manner, and he made me so proud and happy by praising me 
to Basil. I never knew how much I loved him until that 
night. 

Basil took me the next day to see his mother; she literally 
wept for joy, and I was ready to join her, when she confessed 
that this had been for months the wish of her heart, and 
afterward we both wrote to Aunt Catherine and J em. 

Their answers perfectly satisfied me. Aunt Catherine’s 
was very short, but every word expressed her perfect content- 
ment. 

^You have made me very happy,’ she wrote; ^nothing 
earthly could have pleased me more. I shall not now have a 
care for Basil; you will suit his peculiar nature utterly and 
entirely. And, Olga, you have long been very dear to me; 
and now you will be one of us,’ and so on — such a letter as 
only Aunt Catherine could write. 

As for Jem’s, it was so perfectly unique, so altogether de- 
licious, that Basil said I ought to have it framed as a model 
of brotherly correspondence. The dear fellow was literally 
brimming over with fun and affection and satisfied ambition 
— only one sentence was quite grave: 

‘ I have long ago changed my opinion about Lyndhurst; I 
always thought he had the makings of a fine fellow, only I 
distrusted him for awhile. I do not now own that he is per- 
fectly worthy of you ; there is not a fellow living good enough 
for such a dear little soul;, hut he will do, and I have made 
up my mind to give you a blessing, so here goes,’ et cetera, et 
cetera. Oh, how we laughed over that letter ! 

AVe had been engaged about ten days; poor Miss Kosina 
Boyle had been buried nearly a week, and .her sister had not 
yet resumed her duties, when one afternoon, as J was giving 


THE WAY opens: 


469 


Mab her music-lesson, there was a knock at the door, and 
Basil entered. I was beginning to be used to see him at any 
time in the day, for he was seldom absent for many hours 
from Fircroft. He would snatch half an hour whenever he 
could talk over any little mattej’ with me that interested him. 
This time he had brought me a message from his mother; 
she wanted me particularly, he said. Could not Mab finish 
her music by herself ? I made a little demur at this, but he 
was very urgent. He was not going back to the Hall for an 
hour or two — he had to ride to Braidley ; he begged me to re- 
main until he returned, but I would not promise this. 

^ Well, we will leave that part,^ he replied, with a smile that 
told me that he was pretty certain to get his way, ^ only do 
go now as quickly as possible; in fact, I mean to wait until I 
see you out of the house; ’ and seeing this was his mood, I told 
Mab to finish her scales by herself, and put on my hat as 
quickly as possible. 

Ladybird was waiting for her master, and I left Basil for a 
moment while I fetched her some sugar. The pretty creature 
knew me well, for I had always petted her. I could not help 
looking after my Squire as he rode off, Basil always looked 
so well on horseback. He saw me and waved his hat gayly, 
and then I walked on. 

I thought Bennet looked unusually pleased to see m^, but 
he asked me to wait in the library a few minutes before I 
went to his mistress. This sqmewhat surprised me, for I was 
unused to any formality at the Hall; but I understood his 
motive better the next moment, when I found myself folded 
in Aunt Catherine’s arms. My ecstasy may be imagined. So 
this was the reason, then, why Basil had been so urgent with 
me. 

The suprise was so great for a momiBnt that I could only 
kiss her without speaking, and I could see there were tears* 
in her soft gray eyes. 

^Are you pleased to see me, Olga? My dear, I could not 
stay away any longer. I was just longing to see you and Basil, 
so I made Eobert bring me, and we have been here since one 
o’clock. We slept at St. Jude’s Vicarage last night, and 
came on here this morning.’ 

^ And you have seen Basil ? ’ 

^Yes; and talked to him, too. How happy the "boy is! he 
looks better and younger already; and — weD, darling, I think 
you can imagine our conversation.’ 

^You have no idea how good he is to me!’ — rather shyly. 

ICome you shall tell me about it; that is why I told Bennet 


470 THE /SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


to show yon into the library, because I wanted you all to my- 
self. , Do you know how refreshing it is to see your sweet 
little face? Basil says you are just an embodied sunbeam! 
I call that a very pretty, lover-like speech.^ 

Oh/ what a talk .we had ! L felt then as though my happi- 
hess were complete. Aunt Catherine was the only one to 
whom I could tell everything; she understood in a moment 
that my one anxiety was how long Basil's patience would last 
;^Ut. 

‘ It will last as long as it is needed,^ was her comfortable 
answer. ^ Basil is perfectly content to wait a reasonable time^ 
and he thinks Mr. Leigh^s stipulation very reasonable under 
the circumstances ; of course, if it had been possible he would 
rather have married you at once, but he will not let himself 
think of that — Basil is not the least selfish.^ 

^ Oh no I no one could be less so. Aunt Catherine. I hope 
you will not think me fidgety; but, indeed, I do not see how 
Hubert is to spare me even then I ^ 

^Do you not? Well, I have an idea on the subject; and 
BO has Basil. Your news about poor Miss Rosina Boyle put 
the notion in my head; her sister^s death has set Miss Boyle 
free to take your place.^ 

‘ My place i ’ 

^ Well, perhaps not that exactly, for she could not be Mr. 
Leigh’s companion; but, as regards the children and the care 
of the household, she could certainly take your place; indeed, 
I never knew any person so entirely trustworthy. If she be 
the plainest, she is certainly one of the nicest people I know.’ 
^ Do you mean that she should come and live at Fircroft ? ’ 
^Perhaps not live there entirely; but that must depend on 
Mr. Leigh’s wishes. But what could be easier than for her 
to come every morning, and remain until the children’s bed- 
time ? She might still keep her rooms at Fir Cottage, and so 
maintain her independence; but, in my. opinion, there is 
nothing to prevent a woman of her age — and she looks fifty 
at least — taking charge of a widower’s household. She is not 
young, at least in her appearance, or attractive enough to 
make such a position awkward ; but, as I said before, this is 
for your brother to arrange.’ 

^And you think that by that time I can be spared ? ’ 

^That the way will open. Yes, Olga, I do think so, and 
Basil is sure of it. With Miss Boyle at Fircroft, and you at 
the Hall, there can be very little difiiculty in the matter. 
You will always be on the spot to supervise or consult with 
Miss Boyle; she will be able to refer all feminine questions to 


THE WAY OPEm, 


471 


you. The childfen will be with you constantly — every day — 
they will bring their little affairs to you to settle; your brother 
will do the same. Are you convinced now that everyone is 
right in not allowing you to martyr yourself ? ^ 

^Yes; and I could not do it. I could not give up Basil; 
but still it troubles me to think of Hubert being all alone.’ 

^Put that out of your head for the present; in another year 
he will be more fit to be left. His children will occupy his 
thoughts, and give interest to his life; he is strong enough 
and good enough to stand alone. You know how highly I. 
have always thought of him — but never so highly as now, 
when I have watched him in his trouble.’ 

^He is an example to us all; even Basil says so.’ 

'Basil respects him as much as I do. Well, my -dear, he 
will still have his faithful little sister near him. What can 
be more easy than for you and Basil to sacrifice an evening 
now and then to cheer him in his solitude or to coax him up 
to the Hall ? not to mention the hours you will contrive to 
spare him between your own duties. My dear, you do not 
know Basil. When he gets you to himself, he will be too 
happy to be exacting; he will be the first to remind you of 
your duty to others.’ 

'Oh, Aunt Catherine! you always say such nice things. It 
is not only words; but you do give one such real, solid com- 
fort. You have taken away every little tiresome scruple, and 
I feel as light as air.’ 

' Then you must come and talk to Eobert now; he is with 
Virginia in the drawing-room. Oh! there are Ladybird’s 
hoofs galloping up the avenue. Basil is in a hurry to get 
back to his sweetheart; let us go and meet him! ’ 

Basil gave me a droll look as he sprang from his saddle. 

'Are you not glad I interrupted Mab’s music lesson ? ’ .he 
asked as he joined me. 'Were you ever more surprised in 
your life, Olga ? ’ 

' There is no one like her,’ I returned, in a whisper; ' and, 
oh, Basil, she has made me so happy about things ! ’ 

'Yes, I know,’ with a glance* of full understanding; 'that 
is just what you wanted — a talk with Aunt Catherine; ’ and 
then we could say no more as Mr. Fleming was crossing the 
room to speak to us. 

Aunt Catherine was right, and the way has opened. It is 
eighteen months since she said those words to me, and for 
three of those months I have been Basil’s wife. Everything 
has happened as she predicted. Miss Boyle is at Fircroft — a 


472 THE SEARCH FOR BASIL LYNDHURST. 


trusted, faithful friend of the whole family — and I am at the 
Hall, its happy, its most happy mistress ! My husband says 
he has now not a wish ungratified. I almost tremble when 
he tells me so; but, indeed, I could say the same myself. 
There is no one in the world so blessed as I am. Sometimes 
when Eeggie calls me mother, and Basil smiles as he hears it, 
the tears come into my 'eyes; but they are tears of joy. We 
talk often of those old days at St. Croix and of La Maisonnette, 
and again and again I bless the day when Aunt Catherine and 
I crossed the sea on that quest that seemed so hopeless then, 
and vet was so near fruition — ^the search for Basil Lyndhurst. 


SHE ElTD. 



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A SEQUENCE IN HEARTS 


BY MARY MOSS. 


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AUTHOR OF ‘‘PIGS IN CLOVER’^ 


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Raymond. 


By E. L. VOYNICH. 


i2mo. Cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cents. 


** The strongest novel that the present season has produced. 
Pall Mall Gazette^ London. 

“ Wonderful and terrible ; wonderful in its intellectual effect^ 
terrible for the intensity of feeling effects .” — Boston Courier. 

‘^One of the uniquely interesting stories of the year .” — Thi 
Worlds New York. 




By GEORGE MOORE. 


i2mo. Cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cents. 


“A psychological study of extraordinary power, revealing the 
fineness of George Moore’s literary methods .” — Philadelphia Press. 

Absorbing to the end as a narrative, ‘Sister Teresa ’ is also a 
remarkable exhibit of finished thought and skill. ” — New York World. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. 


AT THE MOORINGS 

By ROSA N. CAREY 
i27no. Cloth y 

Another book in the series of Miss Carey ^s fine 
love-stories and pictures of English life and character, 
which are noted for their sweetness and wholesome 
charm. 


ROSABEL 

By ESTHER MILLER 

i2mo. Decorated cloth y $ 1 . 2 ^, 

A love-story of English life which is bringing the 
author deserved praise. The plot is natural, and the 
characters true to life. 


an angel by brevet 

By HELEN PITKIN 

i2mo. Frontispiece, Clothy $1,50 

Miss Pitkin’s first book has met with instant and 
generous welcome. It is a love-story of New Orleans. 
The picturesque setting, the glimpses of the old aristo- 
cratic life there, the strange superstitions and rites of 
voodooism are deftly and ably drawn. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 


NEW SAMARIA 

By S. weir MITCHELL 


j? 7 no^ Illustrated. Decorated cloth, $1.2^. 

Two of the best short stories by the author of 
‘‘Hugh Wynne. One is about a stranded million- 
aire who finds how “clothes make the man/^ and 
the other is a touching love-tale introducing the gray 
of Autumn and the bloom of May. 


POKETOWN PEOPLE 

By ELLA MIDDLETON TYBOUT 


, 1 2 mo. Illustrated. Decorated cloth, $1.^0. 

A collection of irresistibly funny stories of negro 
humor by a Southern woman who faithfully pictures 
the old-time darkey. The original sketches in color 
are a feature. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 


PIGS IN CLOVER 

BY “FRANK DANBY” 

8vo. Decorated cloth, $1.50. 

“ By far the most powerful and searching 
piece of fiction of the year.” — The Bookman. 

“Has a vigor like that Charles Reade used 
to show.” — Buffalo Commercial. 

“A powerful society and political romance 
which is still more powerful as a novel of 
character.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“The most effective realistic novel of a 
decade.” — Professor Guy Carleton Lee. 

“ The book is written with insight, sincerity 
of purpose, and rugged virility.” — The New 
York Commercial Advertiser. 

“One of the most powerful and sustained 
stories read in many months.” — Dr. Harry 
Thurston Peck. 

“A novel of unusual power, brilliant, and 
full of insight into character. It is a book 
to read.” — Detroit Free Press. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 

















